


Fated

by XxJenJenxX



Series: Fated [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Don'tTouchTheMemorialTrees!, F/M, MemoryCrystalsAreTheBest, Modern Girl in Thedas, PaintMeLikeYourEvanuris, PossessionIsABitch, SeraCan'tDance, Sexual Content, ShatterMe, Slow Burn, Solavellan, Teasing, TransferenceIsTheWorst, fated
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:48:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 72,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26953132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XxJenJenxX/pseuds/XxJenJenxX
Summary: When Elythia – an unsuspecting, modern woman – is thrust into the world of Thedas via rift, she touches something she shouldn’t and is given power. The people of this new world have asked her to help them heal the wound in the sky, but to do so she must lose a part of who she is. Solas, an elven apostate hedge mage, agrees to help find a way to send her home once the Breach is closed and along the way she learns two things about herself: in Thedas, the birth defect that left her ears pointed isnormal, and that she no longer finds the prospect of returning to her world appealing thanks to the enticing elven man...**There will be no back and forth between worlds and Elythia will be learning everything about Thedas from the characters of DA:I.**Picture of Elythia (ears not included, sorry :P) now in chapter 6 for anyone interested :P Derp, derp. I morphed so hard on that face, guys. xD**Also, I will be posting at least once a week, if not more so. I'll post as I finish each chapter, so there may be several in one week or just the one.
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas, Fen'Harel | Solas/Female Lavellan, Lavellan & Solas, solavellan - Relationship
Series: Fated [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2043175
Comments: 47
Kudos: 115





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have fixed a bit of this and will continue to do so as I see fit. Sorry if some of it changes!

Elythia sat on the smooth, hard floor with her legs extended in a V shape and her torso flattened between them, contemplating the dance competition coming up. She’d had plans to enter, but the thought of doing it alone, as she had no one in her life to cheer her on – family or otherwise – was slowly wearing her courage down. Dancing wasn’t something she had been doing for long and, although she had been told by a few people in her classes that she was born for it, she didn’t have the confidence to do much more with her talent other than join the few classes she had. _Next year, then_ , she told herself with a grimace, fully aware of her cowardice and already mourning the five-thousand-dollar prize.

“I have to be somewhere, like, right now,” called a voice behind her.

“I’m sorry. I just have to finish this stretch and then I’ll grab my stuff and pop out,” she replied.

“I really don’t have time to wait on you… Could you just make sure the door is locked on your way out? Annette will kill me for leaving someone else to close, but I really can’t miss this appointment.”

“Sure, it’s not a problem,” she smiled up at the body standing above her.

She watched as Dee, the young woman who teaches the evening classes, gathered her coat and left, with barely a glance behind her. Sighing, she lifted her torso and pulled her feet toward her in a butterfly position. Her body was only slightly sore these days, having adjusted to the dance routines she’d started mere months ago. She exhaled and gathered herself off the floor, content with her stretches and ready to call it a day.

Outside, the wind whipped the few sparse trees in front of the studio to and fro. The day had gone from a cool, breezy autumn morning to a frigid near-winter evening, the cold seeping through the glass door and windows of the studio. Elythia shivered at the thought of walking home in the inevitable onslaught of rain. She would need to get a vehicle soon, if only to avoid the weather on days like these.

She was just gathering her things when a knock sounded. Unsure of where it came from, she looked around the studio. Usually no one knocks if the lights are on and someone is in the building; they just waltz right in. A glance at the door confirmed that it was, in fact, not someone knocking at the door. She thought perhaps something had fallen somewhere in the room and was about the shrug it off when she heard a voice. It was low, so low she could almost mistake it for the wind still howling outside. She paused and listened.

“…help!” she heard, this time louder.

Her heart sped up a little as she eyed the closet, a soft light spilling from under the door. Logically, she knew this was wrong. There shouldn’t be a voice calling for help from the closet, nor should there be a light with shadows clearly moving around when she knew for a fact that she was the only person in the building. But logic had never stopped her before when someone was in trouble and so, with a deep breath and shaking hands, she walked to the closet and tore open the door.

“Oh my God,” she breathed, as she was met with swirling green, black, and red tendrils of fog. She reached out tentatively, fingering the light, only to be met with a slight resistance in the air. It was thicker here, almost tangible even. She knew she should be wary, but she had never seen or heard of anything like this in her life and was almost as excited and she was terrified by this weird space. Her hand stretched out once more, pushing through the heavy air, and collided with something hard and fleshy. It grabbed at her fingers and pulled at her wrist. She tried pulling her hand back, but whatever was inside the fog was already pulling her with a strength she didn’t have to contest it. Before she could do much more, her entire body was being swallowed by the mass inside the closet.

“Help me!” shouted the feminine voice again, in a French accent.

She looked around frantically, desperate to find something, anything. There, to the far right, a woman in what was clearly religious garb, was being stretched out and held by glowing red lights around her arms. Elythia marveled at the sight until the rest of the room came into view and then she realized she was not alone with the woman. The others in the room were standing in a circle around the floating woman, the same faint red lights swirling around their outstretched hands. She didn’t understand what was going on, other than they were somehow holding an elderly woman hostage… in the air… with just their hands.

Elythia took a moment to look around the room and gather her senses. The people holding the woman had not seen her enter, too busy in their concentration to notice her. She looked behind her, the swirling tendrils of fog nowhere to be seen. Worry about how she would get back home was only a slight thought compared to what she was now facing. Her eyes met with the woman’s and she saw a silent plea for help as she kicked about. A quick glance around the room revealed no weapons of any sort she could use to help. Not that that would matter, considering she was outnumbered and whatever they were doing to the woman was clearly not of this world… Or of her world? This was clearly not her world, though how she would explain this to herself later, she had no idea.

The doors to her left slammed open. Her breath caught and she swallowed a scream. _What the heck_ , her mind screamed at her repeatedly. She had no idea what was going on anymore. What is this world she had been magically transported to? _Magically transported to!_

A spindly man with red stone jutting from various parts of his body marched into the room, a glowing green sphere in his clawed hand.

“Now is the hour of our victory,” said in an eerie, almost echoing voice of the half-man, half-stone creature that had her mind whispering _Death_.

“Why are you doing this? You, of all people?” asked the woman.

He ignored her question, turning to the men and women holding her instead, “Keep the sacrifice still.”

The sphere started shining brighter, the light jumping from the woman and back, setting her body awash in a green glow. Elythia watched in horror, helpless to do anything with nothing but her bare hands to help the woman in need. She was steeling her nerves and trying to remember what little karate she had learned back in her early teens – her father had wanted her to learn how to defend herself – when the woman cried out again for help. _It’s now or never_ , she told herself and charged at Death.

Her breath huffed out of her in a small battle cry as she leapt for Death’s back. He turned and swatted her away as though she were nothing but a pesky fly swarming his head. She crashed to the floor in a dazed heap. The woman took his momentary lapse of attention to thrash about and kick the sphere from his hand and they all watched as it rolled to a sudden stop at Elythia’s feet.

There was a moment of silence as she stared at Death and he stared back and then before she thought about what she was doing, she reached for the sphere. Death reached out for her and screamed in rage as the sphere connected to her hand and a blinding white light erupted in the entire room.

Fire, so hot she thought her flesh would melt right off her bones, encased her left hand and flared up her arm and through her chest and then ripped through the rest of her body until she knew only heat and agony and _death_.

 _I didn’t get to lock the door for Dee_ , was her last thought as her world finally, blessedly, sank into an unfeeling black oblivion.

.x.

Pain and despair hang heavy in the air and Elythia can almost taste them in her mouth as she rolls her tongue around, trying and failing to gather saliva to wet her parched throat. Her lungs and limbs still burn from that wretched, all-consuming fire and she rubs absently at her left hand. It aches something fierce, worse even than the rest of her body. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to move yet, her body stretched out precariously on the bumpy ground with her left hand cradled atop her stomach in her right hand.

“It hurts because there is magic when there shouldn’t be. Too much magic in a body not meant for it. You have it, but you don’t. Magic, but not a mage. What are you?” asks a hollow, curious voice.

An eye cracks open and surveys the area she assumes the voice came from, but there is no one to be seen. She releases a breath and attempts to sit up, a feat she wasn’t at all sure she could accomplish in her current state. A hand, unbidden, splays across her upper back to help her sit. A man in tattered rags is crouched beside her, his wide-brimmed hat concealing his face.

“Hello?” she tests, her voice but a croak.

“Burning, bruised, and brittle… it hurts to talk, to breathe, to sit. Water would help. I can help. Hello,” he replies, disappearing in a puff of smoke.

She looks around, confused. Beneath her is ash and rubble, stone and wood, scorch marks marring every surface she can see. A flash of green has her jumping as she remembers the sphere she held, the one that caused the explosion. She holds her hand out, a now foreign thing as a green glow warps and swirls throughout her palm. Another flash of the green light and sparks shimmer off her hand, floating through air and laying to rest on the ground.

An attempt to swallow nothing has her throat clenching and she remembers the boy saying something about water. She needs some desperately, if only just to get rid of the aching in her throat. But something tells her she has been here for a while and she hadn’t hydrated after her dance class. She laughs quietly to herself, tears starting to gather in her eyes, as she thinks about the simplicity of her dance class. Here she was, sitting in some random building that has just been blown up, in some bizarre world that she’d entered, with a weird green hand and all she really wants to do right now is drink a glass of water and go to bed.

Another puff of smoke beside her presents with a hand and a container held out to her. She takes it from his ghostly pale hand and sloshes it, confirming that it has liquid in it before tossing it back and swigging the entirety of it. He talks again as she tries to catch her breath, but it comes out as a jumbled mess of words and she’s not sure if he is meaning to make sense or not.

“I am Cole,” he says a little louder than his muttered nonsense.

“Elythia,” she replies, her hand extending.

He stares at her hand, not taking it. His head tilts and a frown tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“Dance for fun and dance for her. To remember. She wanted you to dance when you were younger, but he wanted you to fight. You hated getting teased about your red hair and pointed ears, so you fought and regret not dancing with her. It’s okay, she didn’t mind as long as you were happy.”

“What?”

“I feel things and I help when I can.”

“You just… _felt_ me?” she asks in a disturbed voice, harsher than she meant.

He huffs, “Yes and no. I didn’t touch you, not physically, but I felt you. Your emotions, your thoughts. You’re scared and confused and worried. Didn’t lock the door, she’ll be mad. But she won’t. You are missing and she will forgive you when she finds out. Your world, it’s different. How?”

“I—don’t know…” she trails off, mentally trying not to think of anything else that he may pick up on.

She doesn’t know this person, and though he seems nice enough, she’s in a world unknown and should be cautious of everything and everyone. Her hand flares again and the pain reminds her that she has something she shouldn’t.

“Do you know what this is?” she asks, holding her hand out to Cole.

He doesn’t touch her proffered hand, but cocks his head in contemplation, “Something old. It hurts and it's bright, but it is not what makes you so shiny; it almost hurts to look at you. What _are_ you?” he asks, repeating the same question from earlier.

“I’m just your average human woman, who entered some weird green mist, slipped into another dimension, picked up a glowing ball that exploded, killing everyone but me, leaving me with this,” she says dryly, her left hand waving in the air between them.

He shakes his head and laughs airily but says nothing. _Yeah, I’ve got nothing to say about it either, kid_ , she thinks vacantly. Charred bodies litter the ground in front of them and she grimaces, knowing it was her who unintentionally killed each of them. She’s unsure whether she should feel bad or not. Is this world real? Should she feel bad? She didn’t kill them. The sphere did… Right? She sighs, a small ball of anxiety pitting in her stomach.

Cole tenses beside her with a muttered, “I shouldn’t be here.”

Before she can ask what’s wrong, he disappears again, leaving her alone. Her hand starts to flare once more, brilliant green sparks catching in the air around her. A pain she hadn’t noticed before in her confusion starts at the base of her skull. _Great_ , she sulks to herself, _A migraine is exactly what I need right now_.

But it feels like more than just a migraine. Her head feels like someone is pulling the tendons and veins at the back of her neck, trying to drag her. She grabs the back of her neck and feels for a cut she is sure will be there, but her hand collides with only smooth skin. A hiss in the distance makes her skin break out in gooseflesh. She needs to move, and now. Something is coming, likely whatever had scared Cole away.

She crawls onto hands and knees to stand, the pressure put on her left hand making her wince in pain before she shoves it down and picks herself off the ground. A look around has her heart hammering in her chest. The entire building, it seems, lay in shambles. The world outside is barren for as far as she can see, except the curious black buildings in the distance.

“This place is so creepy,” she mutters aloud to herself.

The tug at the back of her neck pulls again and she wonders if, as this place has already proven to be weird enough, the feeling is trying to get her to go in a certain direction. _Because that’s what a strange pulling sensation in my neck in a weird place should mean_ , she snorts to herself, shaking her head. She turns in the direction of the pull, making her way through debris and crumbling stone. Her theory is somewhat proven when, as she reaches the edge of the wreckage of stone and wood and ash, the pull begins to lessen. Or maybe she just thinks it’s lessening because she’s becoming numb to it.

“Garas quenathra,” hisses a voice from behind her.

Elythia’s entire body goes rigid mid-step and she’s unsure if she froze because she tensed or because the thing whispering behind her has made her halt through whatever magic this world contains. She feels the stirring of air behind her and knows that whatever has just spoken to her is now within touching distance. Her heart races and she tries to force her foot to the floor to no avail. _So, it has frozen me in place then_ , she wonders, terrified at the thought of being helpless to whatever creature slithers ever closer to her back. A featherlight, cold wisp runs along her spine and she shivers.

“Ane tel ma, da'lin.”

She swallows the lump of terror in her throat, the words spilling forth before she can stop herself, “I don’t know what you’re saying.”

The creature spits in disgust, though she is unsure if it is in response to her speaking English or just talking back in general. She assumes it’s likely both, but doesn’t comment further as the cold finger on her spine continues its exploration.

“You fear you are not enough. A waste of space. You reek of it,” muses the unseen figure, voice like grating metal.

This close to the figure she can make out more noises as it moves back and forth behind her. It sounds like more than one person, but she is aware that it is the only entity. There is a soft whistling, almost a rustle, as though several legs are rubbing together. She hopes desperately that she is wrong, but she’s pretty sure at this point that the thing behind her is a bug of some sort.

“Who are you?” she manages through trembling lips.

“I am the fast beating heart within your shaking body, the tightening of muscles and the tears that come unbidden in the dark. I am flesh that crawls and quivers in the wake of realization. I am a nightmare, borne of terrors you could not even imagine. I am Fear,” it chitters in her ear.

“What do you want?”

Her question comes out stronger than she thought it would and at the same time she realizes that her foot has moved, though only slightly, toward the ground. Whatever influence the creature had on her still limbs is slowly wearing off. She tests it gradually, her foot moving inch by inch closer to the ground. In the distance, a figure silently watches the exchange between her and the creature. She continues to push through the thick, invisible barrier holding her in place.

“I want to feed your fears, feel them on your skin, and then I want to crawl into you,” it taunts, that cold claw still tracing a path up and down her spine.

Tasting her, she realizes, as bile rises in her throat and threatens to spill from her mouth. She grimaces as she swallows it back, unwilling to give away her ability to move. Her plan is to keep the thing talking long enough to gather herself up for a run. Instinctively, she knows the figure in the distance is waiting, beckoning almost, for her to join them.

Braver than she actually feels, she replies, “That sounds atrocious. What are you?”

“I have told you: I am Fear,” it hisses in irritation.

“No, you said that’s who you are. _What_ are you? Are you an insect? A person?”

Fear hums in thought and she imagines it cocking its head and rubbing its chin like some evil villain. Between her nerves and the thought, she almost laughs aloud. She bites her cheek to keep herself in check and remembers that this is really happening. There’s some monster holding her in place – granted, she is able to move a little more each second.

 _A_ _nd we're no longer in Kansas, Toto_.

“I am whatever you fear in the moment—” he starts, interrupted by the giggle that erupts from her as she laughs at her own joke.

“I’m sorry. I laugh when I’m nervous,” she offers as a breathless explanation, her mirth deflating.

Fear pushes into her spine and she imagines she can feel each prickly hair on its appendage. _Definitely a spider_ , she concedes. She wonders briefly if she should be more worried, more _scared_ , about her current predicament, but she feels only a sense of disbelief. Hours, she’s sure, she has been in this place and still, she expects to wake up on the floor of the dance studio at any moment. Perhaps someone _had_ knocked. Maybe a burglar had swept into the room and whacked her unconscious and this is all just a figment of her imagination. But the chilly tendril holding her in place at the base of her neck suggests otherwise.

Her foot now rests firmly upon the floor and she wiggles her feet slightly, enough to test movement without drawing attention to the fact that she now has control of her limbs. They move with little to no resistance and she almost sighs audibly in relief.

“You will not laugh when I am in your body, girl,” Fear jeers.

“We’ll see about that,” she tells it in that same daring voice as before, almost begging it in her defiance to strike at her.

She can practically hear the skin pull back from its teeth in a sneer. Her left hand, which had been forgotten amidst the new threat, sputters to life again. Pain has her sucking air through clenched teeth. Fear, in a moment of surprise at the interruption, releases its hold on her neck. She lurches forward, catching herself on a broken bit of stone jutting from the debris. Green light and blood spill from her hand as she catches herself on a sharp fragment.

Fear lets out a wail and she turns toward it. Taller than herself, the monstrous spider towers menacingly above her. Even with its immense shape, that’s not what terrifies her the most. Behind it, running in a group – _a horde_ , she corrects herself – is miniature spiders. _Miniature_ , she laughs hysterically in her mind, thinking the only thing that would consider them miniature is the fifteen foot tall mass still hovering too close to her.

“Run,” whispers the voice from earlier, the young man with the large hat. Cole.

Elythia wastes no time in listening to him. The creatures have gained considerable distance in the short time it has taken her to gather her wits about her to run. She hears Fear skittering about, hissing and chittering, but it’s soon drowned out by the march of several legs. _Hundreds of legs_ , her mind supplies unhelpfully. Her feet have carried her close enough to the figure that she can now see that it is the woman from before, the one she had attempted, very poorly, to help.

Her hand is stretched invitingly toward Elythia and she reaches for it before she is even close enough to touch her. She can feel the spiders now, nipping at her heels and pulling at her baggy pants with their grotesque, elongated legs. Her hand collides with the woman’s and the ground beneath them feels like it’s moving suddenly. The pulling of clothing ceases and she looks behind her, the ground shrinking away from them at an alarming speed.

Elythia can feel the contents of her lunch coming up as a wave of vertigo crashes around her. Heights had never been her strong suit. Just as she felt herself sinking back toward the ground, an arm circles her waist and pulls her back up. Her head lolls and she is distantly aware that time seems to be passing slower. She’s sure it’s just the sudden dizziness but can’t bring herself to care anymore. Her eyes shut tightly, and she turns her head from the gaining cluster of arachnids.

“Go. You must warn them,” the woman tells her urgently in her French accent.

“Warn who of what?” Elythia asks past the knot of bile in her throat.

“Warn them of the orb, child. Warn them of what you have seen here and what possibly awaits in the future should he succeed in his endeavor.”

“He who? I don’t understand what’s going on. I’m not even from this world,” she tries to explain, but the woman is ushering her to the mass of glowing green lights ahead of them.

Through the brightness of the glow she can just make out a ruin of stone and wood and ash. Her face scrunches in confusion, as it seems to be the exact area where she had just escaped from Fear, but clearer and with less of a green film, which she hadn’t even noticed until now. Cole hugs her closer and whispers what she is sure is supposed to be words of comfort.

“Why can’t you warn them?” she inquires, vaguely aware that the woman has not answered her last question and refuses to look at her.

“Here, but not here. Shattered, still, and silent. She wants to warn them, but she carries no volume. She is voiceless,” Cole tells her, as though she should be able to understand what he has just said.

Before she can say anything else, the woman whips her clasped hand forward, tossing her and Cole through the hole with a strength belying her age. They crash together onto the floor and she turns back. The spiders are now swarming the woman. Elythia pulls herself off the floor and reaches for her, but the air is shimmering already and the gap where they had just entered closes abruptly.

Stunned, Elythia stares blankly at the area. She’s faintly aware of Cole moving behind her. His hand comes to rest gently on her shoulder, causing her to nearly jump out of her skin. She absently taps his hand, exhaustion settling over her body.

“I can make you forget,” Cole mumbles from behind her.

“Can you send me back to my world, too?”

“No.”

She nods and sags to the floor, her head in her hands, acceptance in her achy bones. _Just need to sleep this off and wake up already_ , she tells herself. This is clearly a very vivid dream. Or she has gone crazy. Perhaps both.

“Sleep," Cole murmurs, his hands petting her hair softly, the way her mother used to when trying to comfort her, "I will help."

For the second time in too short a period, she passes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just started this and am hoping to get chapters out once a week, at least, since I have nothing to do other than sit around and watch the paint peel on my walls. Quarantine, am I right? xD As a stay at home wife, I have plenty of time to write these days, so even when quarantine ends, I'll still be trying to push chapters out. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! I appreciate it.
> 
> P.S. Not sure how most of this works... super newb over here. Also, I will be cleaning up (when I figure out how) as I go along.
> 
> P.P.S. I attempted to use Elvish... don't be angry if I botched that up. Derp. I tried! I switched between a website with Dalish sayings and words and an online translator for Dragon Age. Roughly:
> 
> **Garas quenathra – “Why are you here?/Why have you come?"  
> **Ane tel ma, da’lin. – “You are not you, child.” (lin = neutral child/lan for fem./len for male?)


	2. Chapter 2

_An unexpected visitor sprawls haphazardly upon a rock at the river’s edge. A petite, female figure in the forest regards her thoughtfully and watches over her as she slowly gains awareness._

.x.

The sound of rushing water has Elythia stirring in confusion. Her eyes refuse to open as she tries to remember what happened. She recalls telling Dee she would lock up the studio, but something had happened that stopped her. _A knock_ , she recalls. There had been a knock, a voice and cold seeping in through the glass, and the howling winds outside, heavy rain beginning its assault on the windows.

Sunlight penetrating her eyelids tells a tale of different weather and her mind tries to cope with the difference. She groans as she tries to turn on her side, her eyes still closed tightly against the offensive brightness.

“I would not turn too much more, da’lin,” chirps a sweet, feminine voice from behind her somewhere.

She inhales sharply, the voice taking her by surprise, and chokes as her lungs fill too quickly. In the quiet, she had assumed she was alone. Finally, she forces her eyes open. A fast-flowing river with the clearest water she has ever seen lies below her. Fish flit about, carried off by the rush, and she can make out every pebble in the riverbed below. Her body is but an inch from the edge of the rock jutting atop the water. She can feel the freezing temperature from where she lies on the stone surface.

Confusion sets in as she takes in her surroundings. A forest of tall, red trees stretches out in all directions. The river below her runs for as far as the eye can see in one direction and ends abruptly at a waterfall in the other, only, she guesses, a couple hundred feet away. _Too close for comfort_ , she thinks to herself. A faint floral scent and nectar hang about the air. Sun filters through the canopy above, illuminating the grove and causing shadows from the leaves to dance playfully along the trunks of the trees.

“This is like something out of a Disney movie,” she says aloud to herself.

“Andaran atish’an,” comes that melodic voice once more.

“I don’t understand,” Elythia announces, glancing behind her.

The woman is small in stature, with a tiny, graceful frame. Her face a delightful mixture of large hazel eyes, a small delicate nose, and plump lips. Vaguely, Elythia is aware that the woman is reminiscent of the fairies from the books her mother used to read to her: dainty creatures with elegant features and gossamer wings. She does not have wings, Elythia notes. However, through her short chestnut hair, she sees the tips of pointed ears.

“It is a greeting,” she replies simply, her head tilting ever so slightly as she studies Elythia.

“In what language? I don’t think I’ve ever heard it before.”

“It is the tongue of the Elvhen, or Elvish, if you prefer.”

“Elven?” she asks dubiously, reassuring herself that she is, in fact, dreaming because there is no other way to explain this woman with elf ears or this place or that she just told her that she is speaking Elven.

“Not ‘Elven,’ da’lin. Elvhen—of the people,” she explains patiently.

“There’s a difference?”

“The way in which you use them, yes. One is a people, one means of a people, and one is a language. I understand the confusion.”

“And elves? They exist here?” Elythia quirks a brow at the woman, challenging her to say yes, which would confirm that she’s asleep.

“You speak as though you are not one,” she replies instead, her tone light despite the accusation in her words.

Elythia’s brows knit together in confusion. Of course she is not an elf. Is this woman crazy? Is she being pranked somehow? Perhaps someone knocked her out and kidnapped her, brought her here to this forest, and had this cosplayer dress as an elf to confuse her and there are hidden cameras somewhere. But no one knows her well enough to pull such an elaborate prank, and she wants to believe that no one would be cruel enough to play the joke on her simply because she was born with a birth defect that left her ears slightly pointed. _Okay, a little more than **slightly** pointed_, she concedes, scowling at the air.

“I did not mean to upset,” the woman tells her.

Elythia realizes that she is actually scowling at the woman, though she had not meant to as she was purely just lost in her own thoughts. She has never had a dream quite so vivid and lucid and she is now refusing to believe this a joke of sorts. To be able to think as freely as she is while in the midst of sleep is almost as disconcerting as it is exciting in its own way.

She drops her scowl and answers, “I’m not upset. I’m not an elf, though. I’m human, born and raised.”

The woman hums in response to her answer, her thin brows lifting in disagreement. Her mouth opens, but before she can say anything else, Elythia is talking again.

“I know… My ears are pointed, so I must be an elf, right? Wrong. My parents were humans, my grandparents were humans; I’m a human. Where I’m from, elves don’t actually exist. They’re just creatures that people pretend to be by dressing up with prosthetic ears and costumes and going to conventions. Like, for games or books or movies or whatever.”

“Very well. As it seems to distress you, let us not speak any further of it.”

“I didn’t mean for that to sound harsh or dismissive. It’s just that I’ve been made fun of before because of my ears and have had people call me an elf all my life. Kids can be quite cruel. Not that it matters, since this is just a dream.”

“This is no mere dream. Not in the way you are thinking,” she states.

She is about to ask what that means when a tugging begins in her head. The sensation causes her to double over on herself, her head clasped in both her hands. She screams as the world tilts and shifts beneath her. Gone are the trees and the sunlight, the woman and the river. She stares into nothingness while voices swim around her.

“…is Solas. He was healing those gathered in the village when he caught word about the prisoner and offered to help. He believes the mark on her hand to be connected to the Fade and wishes to study it. I thought since he claims extensive knowledge of the Fade and she was found near the Breach that it could not hurt to let him observe her,” says a light feminine voice with an accent from beside her.

There is silence for a short moment, and she realizes the nothingness is just her staring at her closed eyelids. She almost laughs at herself, but stops just short of a giggle and tunes back into the conversation. Her eyes remain closed.

“An apostate, Leliana?” replies another woman in a heavier accent.

“With everything that has happened, I would not turn down the help, Cassandra.”

 _Everyone has accents around here_ , she thinks absently. Someone shuffles beside her and a buzz tickles her neck as warm fingers press lightly against her and then are gone just as quickly as they came.

“Her pulse is considerably strong. She should have awoken by now,” says a soft, lilting male voice in an accent similar to the woman in her dream.

Or perhaps this is the dream and the woman had been real? She is so confused and is sure that it would be showing on her face could she see it. Willing herself to stop making faces, she listens on. Distantly, she wonders why everyone seems to have an accent. Voices too far or too soft for her to hear murmur and then the first woman with the soft voice is speaking again.

“It appears I am needed at the forward camp. Chancellor Roderick is attempting to call a retreat.”

“He cannot!” Cassandra all but screams, irritation evident in her voice. Elythia imagines the woman to have a severe face with a deep frown etched into it. Still, she dares not open her eyes.

A scream erupts throughout the room, all conversation dying, and then Elythia is on her side and her body is retching all the contents of her stomach onto the stone floor. Her hand, glowing a wild green, flares to life. Sparks fly in all directions, catching in the air and floating lazily to the ground. She breaks out into a cold sweat and her body starts to dry heave, having nothing left to expel.

“Every time the Breach expands, her mark explodes and she screams out in pain,” Cassandra says.

“Yes, I imagine so. When I first heard tales of her mark, I theorized it was connected to the Fade and, therefore, the Breach and the rifts. If I am correct, she may be the answer to closing both,” Solas muses.

“Then you may continue to study the mark,” she says, her voice floating further away as she finishes with, “And keep her alive. At this point, I am afraid she will vomit herself to death before we can get her to stay awake long enough to close the Breach.”

“Of course, Seeker.”

“Cassandra should not be too far, should you have need of her. I would ask that you stay long enough to help with the Breach once the prisoner is awake, as well as a couple rifts along the way. She will need the guidance, I am sure,” Elythia barely hears the woman, _Leliana_ , mutter over her gasps and heaves.

“Sleep,” Solas says, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder.

A cool breeze enters her body from every direction and her stomach, thankfully, settles itself. She has just enough time before exhaustion takes her to move slightly out of the way of her own puke.

.x.

“Ma garas sal. Welcome back, little one.”

Without looking, Elythia knows that it is the woman from before. From her dream? From her not-dream? She isn’t sure anymore which is what and what is which. She is waiting for the headache to come, the one that surely accompanies such confusing events and thoughts.

“I don’t know what’s going on. I can’t even tell real from not real. Is this a dream? Is the other place a dream? Are they both dreams and right now I’m sitting in a mental institution because I’ve gone crazy? Anything is possible at this point,” she groans, wiping at her eyes in an effort to keep the tears at bay.

 _This is quickly becoming too much for one mind to bear_ , she thinks.

“This is the Fade, a metaphysical realm where everything is shaped by thought and reflects the expectations of the dreamer,” she says, as though it were the simplest thing in the world.

“Nothing makes sense to me anymore.”

“Plainly, you are dreaming at the moment. The other place, one could assume, is the waking world.”

“But that still doesn’t make sense,” Elythia argues, “The other place isn’t real to me either. I remember someone asking for help and then… I was pulled into some green mist? I still don’t understand it and I feel like I’m forgetting something.”

“It sounds like you have gone through trauma and could use a break. Come, walk with me,” she answers, extending her hand to Elythia, who managed to wake once more upon the rock over the river.

She reaches for her hand and is met with a warm tingle that starts in her fingertips and quickly races up her arm. She snatches her hand back once she’s standing upright, a frown on her face. Not because it was a bad feeling, she convinces herself, but because it was too weird. The woman doesn’t seem to notice and turns, starting her trek along the river.

“Who are you, anyway?” Elythia asks, realizing she hadn’t thought to before.

“I am Wisdom.”

“Your name is Wisdom? That’s… cool, I guess. I’m Elythia.”

Wisdom nods in acknowledgement. She says nothing more and the two of them walk along the river in silence for a beat. Elythia considers what Wisdom has said about this being a dream, shaped by thought. She stops and stares at the riverbank, wondering if the thought of flowers would make them appear as Wisdom suggested. She bends, her hand on the ground, concentrating on the thought of calla lilies. The elegant white flowers were her mother’s favorite and had slowly become hers over the years, the simple but beautiful upside-down bell-shaped flower often adorning her kitchen vases.

Her eyes widen in disbelief at the small white buds slowly but continuously growing beneath her fingers. She picks one once they’ve stopped growing, bringing it to her nose. _It even smells like a calla lily!_ she thinks surprisedly. A giggle bubbles to her lips, but cuts off as a morbid thought crosses her mind. Could she conjure her mother and father in this place? She had easily summoned a flower. What little effort it would take to form the thought of her parents. Their smiles, their smell, their voices…

“Can I shape people as well?” she asks Wisdom, her voice so low that she almost thought the woman didn’t hear her when she didn’t answer right away.

“You could. Perhaps you should not, however, as you are new to this. I fear you may overexert yourself too early.”

“I don’t think I can bring myself to do it, anyway. It’s just good to know.”

She is lying, sort of. She wants desperately to summon her parents and hug them, but thought of doing so in her current company keeps the feeling at bay. Later, when she figures out how to get away from Wisdom, she will try to conjure them. _If_ she figures out how to ditch the woman. If this is a dream, would abandoning her seem rude? Can she shake her? Or would Wisdom just follow her? How does this work?

“So, if I want to go off on my own, I can, right? I mean, I wouldn’t need you. You’re not some weird dream guide, sent to watch over me or something?” Elythia questions.

“You may do as you please, within reason and with great attention. As I am a spirit of Wisdom, so there are others in the Fade as well, spirits of less kind… objectives. Demons, if you will. They are attracted to the baser wants of those who enter the Fade. They are not to be toyed with,” Wisdom explains.

She reflects on that a moment. A spirit of Wisdom. A spirit. A ghost? Are they the same thing? _And demons!_ In her dreams. What a weird dream this is turning out to be. What a weird day this is turning out to be. What an overall weird everything this is turning out to be. She laughs to herself, noticing the minor touch of hysterics in the sound.

“Are you free to wand—” she is cut off by the same pulling sensation in her head from earlier, this time less painful.

“Goodbye!” she shouts before the world shifts and disappears.

.x.

“I am so tired of switching back and forth between places,” Elythia mutters to no one in particular as she blinks her eyes slowly.

The light here is dim, a small candle the only illumination she can see from inside her cell. _Cell_? she wonders to herself. She lays stretched out on a tattered cloth on the cold, stone floor. A dungeon is the closest thing her mind can think of to describe her cell. She’s in a freaking dungeon!

Soldiers in medievalesque armor stand at attention on either side of the barred door. In the distance, beside a torch on the wall, stands a woman in the same type of armor. A large white eye in the middle of a sunburst is painted on the front. Her hair is cropped short and black, a braid haloed around her head. A deep, disapproving frown is etched into her face. _A severe, serious woman, indeed_ , Elythia thinks, remembering her thoughts of the woman from earlier. This is no doubt Cassandra.

Which means the man kneeling at her side, his too warm fingers turning her left hand delicately, is Solas. She studies him as he studies her, the comment she made about switching places unheard, as he seems unaware that she is awake. She must have said it in her mind. Her finger twitches involuntarily at his exploration of her palm and his eyes lift to meet hers.

“Hi,” she breathes, as her blue-green eyes meet his ocean blues.

“Hello,” he replies with a small nod, that same lilt from earlier accenting his pleasantly warm tone.

Her palm chooses that moment to sputter to life again. She clenches her teeth so hard she feels her jaw pop and it takes everything in her not to explode on a scream again. She lifts her hand between her and Solas and examines it. The dang thing is still glowing green and sparking, but not as much as it was the last time she was awake in this room.

“What is it?” she asks him, tentatively holding the glowing appendage out to him.

He takes her hand in his again, spreading her fingers out, palm up. He raises a brow and shakes his bald head, releasing what sounds like, to her, a frustrated sigh.

“It is a mark of some kind. One that I speculate may help close the rifts and, ultimately, the Breach.”

She vaguely remembers the conversation from earlier when he’d told the two women the same thing.

“Rift? Breach? I don’t understand.”

He considers her a moment, his face studying hers. She knows he is looking for any sign that she is lying about not knowing what he is talking about. His brows knit together, puckering the scar just above them.

“You truly do not know?” he asks, tilting his head to the side.

“No. I’m not from this world. I don’t even know what this world is, actually.”

He seems momentarily skeptical, a frown pulling at his soft, full lips. _Stop looking at his lips_ , she scolds herself, her eyes flitting back to his. He turns to gather a book from behind him and she notices his ears… His very long, pointed ears. _An elf_! her mind screams at her. She isn’t sure when, but at some point she had decided to play along with elves existing and weird dream states. Besides, he seems real enough.

“You didn’t tell me what a rift and a breach is,” she mumbles, watching as he scribbles in his journal with a quill, thinking to herself that a quill is probably the least weird thing she’s seen all day at this point.

“Rifts are tears in the veil that allow demons from the Fade to fall through. The Breach is the biggest rift.”

“Because that makes sense,” she tells him sarcastically.

He regards her warily and gathers himself, pushing the door to her cell open. He leaves without saying another word to her, leaving her cold and alone with just the guards. One eyes her from his perch against the wall while the other looks forward. She realizes the one not looking at her is watching Solas as he approaches Cassandra, who had been pacing back and forth down the dimly lit hall. They exchange low, muttered words and then both turn to look at her. Cassandra marches down the hall toward her and Solas walks casually in the opposite direction, turning left at the end of the hall and disappearing.

“Good, you are awake. I would have you stretch and gather your senses. Then I will see to it that you are properly outfitted before we make haste to close the Breach,” the woman announces brusquely.

Elythia has no time to reply as the woman turns on her heel and is gone just as quickly as she marched over. She watches the woman continue her swift stride down the hall, disappearing in the same path Solas had taken. The guard who had been eyeing her up opens the door to her cell, waiting for her to leave. She takes her time getting up, her legs stiff and tingling with pins and needles, the feeling rushing back into them suddenly.

“Move it, rabbit,” the guard snaps, spittle flying from his lips.

A blush creeps its way up her neck and into her cheeks. She knows he called her that because of her ears. Though not as large or as long as Wisdom’s or Solas’s ears, they are still quite pointed, enough to classify her as an elf to these people. She wonders briefly if he had been eyeing her with that much hostility when Solas and Cassandra had been here or if he had reserved it.

She half limps, half shuffles through the door. She rubs at her thigh as she walks down the hall to where she had seen the others disappear. A staircase leads up to a wooden door. She supposes this is where she’s meant to go. She had apparently stared too long at the door in question as the guard who had called her _rabbit_ pushes her, her hip and ribs digging into the stone steps. She cries out in pain and her hand responds, flashing a brilliant green. The guard stumbles away from her glowing palm. Or, rather, is thrown away from her, she realizes, as the other guard pushes him against the wall and mutters to him about how to ‘properly treat a lady’.

“Sorry about that, my lady,” mutters the kind guard, his hand outstretched in offering.

She slides her hand into his armored hand and says a quick thanks, assessing the damage from the stairs. Her torso is a little sore and her hip has definitely felt better, but nothing feels broken. She limps up the stairs, this time from mild pain in her hip rather than the tingling of limbs and rubs her sparking palm. The sputters weren’t nearly as bright or as painful as the first or second time she had seen and felt it, becoming slightly more manageable each time.

“Here,” Cassandra says from her left as she emerges from the dungeon, and tosses a pile of metal and cloth at her.

“I don’t know how to put any of this on,” she admits and the blush from the guard’s insult that’s still lighting her cheeks darkens.

Cassandra stops mid-stride and looks at her like she’s some bizarre creature with two heads. She feels her face grow even hotter. The woman looks her up and down, head to toe, and sighs, shaking her head.

“Of course you do not. Look at you; you are clearly no warrior. Come, I will help you.”

She leads Elythia to the door across from the dungeon and into a small room with three beds and books strewn all over the place. She hands Cassandra the clothing back and watches as the woman carefully sorts through the pile, gathering the cloth pieces first and handing them to her.

“Surely you can manage simple clothing by yourself.”

“I don’t see what’s wrong with what I have on currently, actually,” Elythia states, more confidently than she feels.

“I felt the material of your shirt when we carried you from the Temple of Sacred Ashes and it is not warm enough for you to survive without the aid of a mage to keep you warm. You will need thicker, warmer clothing for our travels.”

“Mage?”

“Mages are those born with the ability to interact with and control magic, which they draw from the Fade. You are worse than a babe, knowing nothing about anything.”

Elythia picks up the green sweater laying on the bed, ignoring her insult. After the way her day has gone, she thinks nothing will surprise her anymore. The material of the sweater is itchy and she’s thankful for her long-sleeved compression shirt so that the material will not have to touch her body. She slides it over her head. It sits too big on her slender frame, but she doesn’t complain. The next item from the pile looks like a weird old-maid hat and she eyes it doubtfully, holding it out by one of the thin strings attached to it.

“It is a coif, meant to wear on your head to keep your hair out of the way,” Cassandra explains upon finishing her sorting of the metal pieces.

“So it’s head underwear,” she says, amusement lifting her lips.

She bites back a laugh at her own joke. Cassandra does not seem impressed as she lifts her dark brow and holds out the first piece of armor.

“This is the lower cannon of the vambrace. It goes on your forearm.”

Elythia holds her arm out for the woman and she sets about buckling the piece. She hands her the other one and Elythia fixes it herself on her other forearm. The next metal hunk she holds up is pretty easy to identify. A breast piece, meant to cover her chest.

“This is a breastplate. It is big, but it will have to do until we reach the forward camp to inquire after a small, better fitting piece. You should also put your hair up. Long hair often gets in the way,” she tells her, sounding like the last bit was added as an afterthought.

Cassandra slides the piece over Elythia’s head and begins buckling the straps at her side. She’s right, it is very ill-fitting. The thing sits partially askew over her chest. Everything is too big on her, she is only now realizing, small form. She pulls her hair into a loose bun, using one of the hairbands on her wrist, and takes care to tuck her ears under the mess like she usually does to hide them from the public.

With her armor complete, Cassandra marches to the door and holds it open, waiting for her. She glides from the room and as she walks, the breastplate starts to rub her ribs the wrong way. She ignores the feeling for now and takes in her surroundings. Light from several candles throughout the building flicker and dance against stone walls. Pews sit against the wall, removed from their positions to make room for the people milling about in their red and white robes. _Clearly a religious place_ , she thinks. To her left, in an alcove, sits a large statue whose base is lined with several candles. Sconces line the stone pillars leading to the doors, which are open and revealing a snowy world beyond.

“It’s snowing?” Elythia mutters in askance, walking toward the whiteness outside.

“Of course. It is Umbralis,” she retorts.

“Umbralis? I have no idea what that is.”

“It is the eleventh month. Solas says you seem to have lost your memories.”

“I can’t lose something I never had. I’m not from this world,” Elythia says for what she feels like the millionth time that day.

“Right. You fell into another dimension. Convenient for the only surviving member of the explosion at the conclave.”

“Explosion? I honestly don’t know anything about anything, Cassandra. I’m not from—”

“It is Seeker to you,” she interrupts, glaring at Elythia.

“Sorry,” she mutters contritely.

The Seeker sighs and shakes her head, “I suppose it does not matter what you call me in the end. I do not mean to come off so aggressively. I am merely tired and seeking answers. I had hoped you would be able to give them, but it seems you cannot.”

Elythia stops walking and reaches to the Seeker, her hand giving the woman’s forearm a squeeze, “I _am_ sorry.”

“It may not be your fault. The men and women who found you say a woman was in the rift behind you. Do you remember?”

Elythia scrunches her face in confusion. There is something at the edge of her memory, just out of her reach. They continue their slow walk to the door.

“I don’t remember anything, and I especially don’t remember any woman.”

Cassandra nods, “The memory you have misplaced.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

The doors lead into a snowy landscape, tents and wooden cabins laid out before them. In the distance sits a large green light, dancing in the grey-green of the angry sky. Stone and rock circle the mass in the sky. _It’s beautiful_ , she thinks. The light erupts, a bolt of green lightning shooting from it and suddenly her left hand is crackling with power. She drops to her knees in agony, but notices that, again, it does not seem as bad as the first few times the wretched thing had rattled around in her palm.

“We call it the Breach,” Cassandra states, staring at the green mass, “It is a massive rift from which demons continue to pour and it grows with each passing hour. It is not the only rift, merely the largest. All of them were caused by the explosion at the conclave. Unless we act soon, the Breach will grow until it swallows the world. Each time the mark on your hand rears to life, it means the Breach has expanded once more. It is killing you. Solas believes it may be the key to stopping all this and closing the Breach, but there isn’t much time.”

“I will help if I can.”

“Yes, that is not in question. You are a prisoner. You _will_ see this through.”

Elythia’s brows knit together in confusion. Of course she was a prisoner. They had kept her in a cell in the dungeon. But she only just realizes what the implications of being their prisoner means.

“You think I caused the explosion… What will happen once this Breach is closed?” she asks tensely.

“I expect that if you fully cooperate, you will have a chance at proving your innocence. There will be a trial afterward and I will testify on your behalf for helping close the Breach, but can promise you no more. Innocent or not, the people here have already decided your guilt. They mourn the death of our Most Holy, Divine Justinia. The conclave was hers—a chance for peace amongst the templars and mages.”

Elythia feels her pulse pick up as she thinks about spending the rest of her life in this world, prisoner to these people who think her a killer. She cannot, nay, _will not_ let that happen. If this is her world now, stuck here in some alternate dimension, she will not be held responsible for something she can’t even remember. She makes a promise to herself there and then to find a way to escape should she need it. But first, she will help these people fix the hole in the sky.

She opens her mouth to tell the Seeker that she doesn’t know what she’s talking about again, but she beats her to the punch.

“I know. You do not know of what it is I speak. There is much you do not know or understand.”

Elythia shrugs, knowing it is the truth. She understands nothing about this world other than they have yet to join the twenty-first century and seemingly have no technology. _Oh, and of course they have elves and weird tears in the sky and magical places where dreams are shaped and demons and spirits. Agh_ , she huffs to herself.

“If we succeed in closing the Breach and you are deemed innocent, where would you go?” Cassandra asks suddenly and Elythia realizes with dismay that she hadn’t actually thought about it.

“I suppose I will find someone to help me get back to my world,” she answers honestly.

“Of course. It is a sound plan for someone who is ‘not of this world’ and wishes to return to their own.”

Both of them stay quiet as they continue on their path. They left the village of tents and wooden cabins behind and now travel on a cobbled path. Ahead, a small stone bridge lays in wait. Elythia hates bridges. She hates heights in general.

“Seeker, I don’t think I can walk across that bridge.”

“Why? You are not afraid of heights, are you?” she guesses.

“Yes, and it’s a perfectly normal fear,” Elythia response defensively.

The Seeker’s lips lift in a small smile but she says nothing further. Cassandra leads her to the side of the bridge and looks down, rocks jutting out in every direction, sharp and waiting to stab them should they lose their footing on any of them. Elythia sighs and resigns to crawl her way across the stone bridge.

“Fine,” she mutters, scowling at the stupid stone bridge, and tosses her arm out in an ‘after you’ motion to Cassandra.

She had thought she was joking when she thought would have to crawl across the bridge, but as she tries to make her way past the doors, she slowly sinks to her knees. Her body is breaking into a sweat already and her heart is beating a fast rhythm in her chest. The urge to puke arises, but she swallows it down. She’s about halfway across when a bolt from the Breach arches through the air and hits the bridge, just to the left of her, splitting the bridge in two.

Everyone on the bridge cries out as the stone starts crumbling and falling. _This is how I die?!_ she thinks frantically. She was in an explosion that killed a bunch of people, held prisoner, has a weird green light in her palm that keeps aching and sparking, but she’s going to succumb to a broken freaking bridge. Fantastic.

She grabs at anything she can to keep herself on the bridge, but there is nothing to grab. Hollowly, she watches as the seeker slams into the ground but rolls into a sitting position as she makes contact, popping back up with a ferocity Elythia thinks only this woman must harbor. She has no such luck with rolling and instead slams into the ground. Her overly large breastplate catches the side of her chest and the corner slices into her ribs. Blood wells immediately, soaking the green sweater under her breastplate.

Gasping, she tries to stand. The effort is more than she can bear and she almost passes. She takes a few deep breaths and then she hears the sliding of steel and a battle cry. Two hooded figures rise from green and black holes, portals, in the ground and circle the Seeker reaching out intermittently to claw at her. She brandishes the shield that Elythia had not even noticed and bats one away, turning on the other and slicing at it. The one she batted away notices Elythia in that moment and fear strikes her as she stares at the glowing eyes beneath the hood and then the creature is moving toward her.

She looks around for something, _anything_ , to use to fight the demon off. A dagger, blade just shorter than the length of her forearm, is half hides just below a wooden crate that has fallen from the bridge. She crawls as fast as her battered body will let her and grabs at it. The handle is stuck under the debris and won’t come lose. She can hear the creature behind her now, slithering ever closer. She waits no longer.

The blade slices through her hand as she grabs it and pulls with everything in her. She cries out in pain as it rips through her palm, but the blade comes free from the rubble. Ghostly claws tear at her green sweater and metal breastplate, but it’s too late for the creature as she spins the blade in her hand and stabs up, in the general direction of the thing’s heart. It hisses and shrinks to the ground in a pile of smoke and ash. Elythia gasps for breath, going dizzy from the exertion and blood loss.

“Drop your weapon, _now_ ,” Cassandra growls.

“Unnecessary,” Elythia says, her hand releasing the dagger from sheer exhaustion.

“You are wounded. Why did you not say so to begin with?”

“You didn’t give me time before jumping down my throat for defending myself.”

“I—suppose that was a bit harsh of me. I apologize. Had you not grabbed the weapon, that could have very well ended badly. I cannot protect you,” she states, her voice slightly defeated.

“I’m sure you can protect me just fine, Seeker. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m just going to pass out right here.”

“No, I have a potion, gathered before we left Haven in case this very thing happened. It is a health mixture made of Elfroot, Dawn Lotus, Embrium, and Prophet’s Laurel. I know, you do not know what those things are. Just drink it and it should tide you over until we can reach the first rift and Solas can heal you.”

She blushes at the mention of the tall, elven man with the piercing eyes and soft smile. Cassandra hands her a vial with a dark green liquid in it. She opens it and sniffs, nearly throwing the vial from her nose at the smell that assaults her. It’s almost like too many musk’s in one perfume bottle.

“That is rank,” she tells the Seeker, a grimace plastered on her face.

“Yes, but it will help,” Cassandra smiles back.

Elythia sucks in a deep breath, holds her nose, and downs the contents of the vial. A slow warmth spreads throughout her limbs and settles in her belly, pooling and then dispersing throughout her body again, almost like the potion is pulsing within her. It definitely doesn’t taste as badly as it smells. Her hand and ribs definitely feel better. _In fact_ , she thinks, _I’ve never felt better in my life_. Her body seems to be humming with barely contained energy.

“It's like my entire body is alive right now. This is amazing,” she tells Cassandra in wonder, pulling herself off the ground.

“If it is your first time consuming the potion, that is natural. The more you take, the more your body will adjust until eventually it gives less energy and only keeps your wounds from hurting and coagulates the blood to keep you from bleeding out long enough to receive proper help. You would need a different potion for the energy.”

“That’s handy.”

“Indeed,” the Seeker agrees, wiping the bloody dagger on her pants and flipping the blade, handle pointed at Elythia in offering, “I have learned many things of you in the short time I have known you. Despite the harshness I sometimes use when speaking with you, I have come to trust that you will neither run from nor attack me. That has earned you the right to defend yourself with your own weapon.”

“Thank you," she says, taking the offered blade, "But what about the people here. Do we help them?”

She glances around, watching as several people attempt to pull debris off of others. Her heart aches for those lost to the bridge, but she sends a silent thanks out to the universe for keeping her alive during the collapse. The Seeker shakes her head and surveys the area.

“No, we do not have the time. There are soldiers here, as well as a few healers. They will aid each other. We must get to the Breach and close it before more chaos ensues.”

Elythia nods and follows the Seeker as she continues on her path. She and Cassandra are both quiet during their trek to the rift. She isn’t sure how long they walk for, passing abandoned cabins and deserted roads along the way. She gets lost in thought about one of the Seeker’s questions. What does she plan to do when this is over?

Her answer had been to find a way home. She had not let herself think the one thing now clouding her mind, _what if I can’t find a way home_? Would she be happy, living in this world that isn’t hers? What if they found her guilty of killing everyone at the conclave? Would she be forced to spend the rest of her life in chains? A dungeon? Would she hang? She has no idea of how things work here. Would she get the death penalty?

How is she going to get home? She has no idea how she even got here, let alone where to start looking for a way to return. Although, this world is full of magic and weird things, so maybe the answer isn’t as far off as she thinks.

“We’re almost there.”

Sounds of a fight can be heard from the road ahead. Stone structures lay in shambles surrounding the figures fighting tirelessly in the distance. There, just above them, is what Elythia assumes is one of the rifts they keep talking about. Cassandra’s pace quickens and as she does a slow run, Elythia falls into step beside her, dagger drawn and ready.

She can just make out a few thin figures fighting more hooded figures, a bald head amongst them, and a short figure as well, crossbow in hand and firing. She watches as Solas wields a long stick, – _staff_ , her mind supplies – his movements graceful and quick as he spins it in the air above him. Fire erupts where he aims and the figures hiss and duck away from him. Elythia almost loses her footing, so distracted is she by this stranger.

A hooded figure lunges at her from her left, claws digging into her arm. She barely registers the pain as she whips her dagger forth and slices at the creature. Her dagger connects with its arms and severs them, claws left dangling from her arm. She pushes forward and drives her dagger into its heart. Same as the others, the thing basically melts into a pile of ash smoke. She pulls the claws from her arm and looks up in time to see the last of the creatures melt away.

“Quickly, before more come through!” Solas shouts over the wind whooshing from the rift.

He grabs her left wrist and lifts her palm to the rift. The rift pushes back and then his hand is on her hip, clutching, and centering her to keep her from falling over. She blushes as she feels his breath on her ear.

“You should try to feel the tear with your mind and will it to close.”

She nods and closes her eyes, thinking of the rift like a tear in clothing. Her hand becomes the needle as she weaves it back and forth, stitch by stich. There, in the center, she can feel a tug. The sensation is almost like the same tug that woke her from her dreams earlier. She mentally pulls on the thread that she imagines connects her palm to the rift. She can feel a give within the tear, however slight. Beyond that, she can also feel the shapes slithering around inside the rift, sliding closer to her.

Her hand balls into a fist and she yanks the rift, willing it closed as Solas suggested. The rift shuts on her command and the area falls into silence without the whistling winds from the rift. Immediately, the hand on her hip is gone, as well as the one at her wrist. The potion Cassandra gave her what feels like an eternity ago is slowly wearing off and the energy she expended in closing the rift has left her feeling drained.

“I don’t feel well,” she says at the same time her body slinks to the ground.

In an instant, the Seeker and Solas are hovering above her, hands working to rid her of the ill-fitting breastplate.

“Go on to the forward camp,” Cassandra tells the few soldiers who had helped fight the demons and then turns to the short man with the crossbow, a scowl on her face, “Not you.”

“Oh, come now, Seeker. Like I would leave you to fight the demons on your own,” he replies in deep voice, without an accent Elythia notes.

She breathes through her teeth as Solas finishes the removal of her breastplate and green sweater, the latter clinging to the wound on her ribs. He looks at her, a question in his eyes. She nods her head and lifts her compression top enough for him to look at the wound. The gash is nasty and has started to bleed again now that the potion is wearing off.

Solas’s hands prod her tenderly and that same cool breeze from earlier starts to seep into her bones. The last time this happened, she fell asleep. But the Seeker had made it clear that they need to get the Breach and so she could not let herself take the time to sleep.

“Stop,” she tells Solas and his hands immediately drop from her torso.

He looks at her questioningly, as well does the Seeker and the short man. All of them are staring at her, waiting for an explanation.

“The last time you did this, I fell asleep. I don’t want to sleep. If the Breach is as bad as everyone keeps making it out to be, I _need_ to be awake.”

“You fell asleep earlier because I had given you a sleeping elixir in the middle of your heaving. Not because I had used my magic to heal you. I merely sent a short wave through you earlier to calm your stomach,” he informs her.

She relaxes once more, nodding in acceptance, and they continue the healing process. The cut on her ribs is almost fully healed now, the wound closing before her eyes. She stares dumbfounded while he continues healing her wounds. These people, for all their seemingly primitive ways, have a very convenient method of doctoring. _Magic, who knew_. The claw marks on her arm are a little harder to close, but she puts it down to them being from a demon. Perhaps they are harder to heal.

“The mark worked in closing the rift here, which means it may also close the Breach itself,” Cassandra says in wonder.

“Indeed, it may,” Solas replies to the Seeker and then turns with a smile toward Elythia, “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

“And here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever,” says the short man, walking toward the trio.

He extends his hand to Elythia, “Varric Tethras: rogue, storyteller, prisoner, and, occasionally, unwelcome tag along.” Varric winks at the Seeker and she sneers in disgust in return.

Elythia takes his hand, giving it a small shake and a muttered, “Elythia.”

“I came here to tell your story to the Divine. Clearly, that is no longer necessary,” Cassandra notifies Varric reluctantly.

“And yet, here I am… Lucky for you, considering current events.”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but are you supposed to be a dwarf?” Elythia asks, only a tad horrified at having to ask in the first place.

He laughs, each breath nearly forcing his hairy chest to burst from his low-cut shirt. When he notices her staring at him, waiting for an answer, he sobers up and says confusedly, “Well, shit, I thought you were joking. Of course I’m a dwarf.”

“She is not from this dimension,” Solas tells him matter-of-factly.

“Not from this dimension?”

“I believe whatever caused the Breach and put the mark upon her hand is responsible for also opening a rift of sorts in her world, at which point she walked through into ours.”

She stares at Solas, the note of awe clearly audible in his explanation. Her chest clenches a bit and she realizes what’s happening. She groans inwardly and almost rolls her eyes. Of course she would have a dang crush on this guy. A slow blush starts its way up her neck and into her cheeks and she curses her redheaded genes and fair skin for causing her to blush so easily.

“That’s kind of cool. It would definitely be a tale of the century, if anyone should write it,” Varric tells them.

“Maybe if I can remember how it happened or what happened, I’ll tell you about it one day and you can write it for me,” Elythia offers him, smiling in earnest.

He smiles back, “Deal.”

Solas’s healing breeze washes over her entire body in force at that moment. She stares at Solas, a frown on her face.

“What was that for?” she asks sharply.

“I do not know what you mean. I am merely sending my magic through your body to heal you. What did it feel like?”

“It felt like you just tried to explode my body on a gust of wind. It was too cold and pushed too hard through me.”

“Hm,” his only reply, leaning back on his heels, away from her. His cooling breeze recedes from her body, leaving her feeling bare and longing for its return. She shakes her head, sure that’s not what she was actually feeling. _Because that’s weird_ , she chides herself.

Solas stands and the feeling of longing goes with him, no longer holding her in his snare. She’s unsure of how she feels about the overall feeling in general, let alone the way she involuntarily reacted to its absence. She would put it off for another day, if they lived, and would perhaps ask someone about it. _But not him_ , she assures herself. 

“I am Solas, if there are to be introductions. I am sure you know my name by now, but I thought it would be rude not to present you with it myself,” he says, offering her his hand.

Elythia slides her hand into his and warmth encases hers at once. She tries desperately not to blush again and tears her hand from his too quickly as soon as she’s standing on her own. Vaguely, she’s aware of his studious gaze lingering on her, but she ignores it and turns to the Seeker, who has watched the entire exchange with a hint of interest.

“I’m ready, I believe, to get to the breach and continue our quest,” Elythia mutters to them all, smiling at her use of the word quest, like this is some game.

“You sound like a proper hero, talking about quests,” Varric tells her, his eyes informing her that he has not missed her amusement at the use of the word.

She shrugs and laughs lightly, picking her dagger off the ground where she had not even been aware she’d dropped it. She will need to take care to keep this thing closer to her, at all times, preferably.

“Let us go and be done with it then. We are to meet Leliana at the forward camp,” Cassandra says and sheathes her sword, picking her way over the rubble of stone to find the path beyond.

They carry on in silence, following the Seeker as she makes her way up and down the paths, across frozen lakes, and past more abandoned cabins. They run into more demons along the way and Varric and Solas explain what they are. The hooded, slinking creatures with the glowing eyes are called shades. They lurk in the shadows, draining energy from the psyche of any it encounters until they have enough power to manifest. Elythia shivers at the thought, wondering who the shades they had fought already had drained in order to stand before them.

“The little guys are wraiths and not terribly frightening unless you come upon one with an affinity for the elements. They’re a little stronger but nothing we can’t handle, especially with Bianca here,” from Varric, who pats his crossbow lovingly.

“You named your crossbow Bianca?” Elythia laughs.

“Of course, and she’ll be great company in the valley. You’ll see.”

“Absolutely not, Varric. Your help was appreciated, but no longer required,” Cassandra glowers.

“You clearly haven’t been in the valley lately, Seeker. Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore, which means you need all the help you can get. In other words, you need me.”

Cassandra continues her icy scowl but says nothing. Elythia wonders about the nature of their animosity. What had Varric done to earn such hostilities from the woman? But, well, she had not done anything to her and the Seeker had harbored the same attitude toward her too. She had loosened up in the hours since their travels began, Elythia registers in mild surprise.

“You know, as a mage, Chuckles was able to keep that mark from killing you,” Varric comments offhandedly.

“Chuckles?”

“Our elven apostate here is just full of laughter.”

Elythia looks at Solas, eyes roaming him head-to-toe. He doesn’t return her gaze, though she knows he’s aware of it. His serious expression and the tense way he holds himself tells a different story to Varric’s and she assumes the dwarf is just being sarcastic.

“And what will you two do when this is over?” Elythia inquires, working around to asking Solas, who seems to know quite a bit about quite a lot of things, about a way for her to return home.

“I believe I’ll return to Kirkwall—that’s where I’m from. Maker knows they need all the help they can get to repair what’s been broken,” Varric says, eyes downcast in thought.

“I envision myself continuing on my travels, amassing knowledge where possible, should such a thing be achievable in these trying times. One does hope that those in power remember who helped and who did not,” Solas announces, looking pointedly at Cassandra before turning to Elythia, “And yourself?”

“I’m going to find someone willing to help me get home… and since you seem to know a great deal, I’m hoping _you_ can help me.”

He doesn’t answer her. Varric walks ahead with Cassandra and leaves the two in silence. Solas walks in step beside her, back straight and shoulders wide, his hands clasped behind him. His face is thoughtful as his silence continues. Finally, he nods to her.

“Yes, I will help if I can. It will require research on my part, but I am confident I might find something to aid us in our _quest_ to see you returned to your dimension—that is, if we can close the Breach without killing you in the process.”

“Sounds like a plan,” she mutters, more to herself than to him.

“I have been meaning to ask,” Solas starts, and she feels herself tense. It’s the same tone other people have used in the past when asking about her ears. Before he can ask his question, another rift appears just over the crest of the hill.

People run back and forth, some fighting the shades and wraiths pouring from the tear while others hide behind whatever surfaces they can find. She runs forward, Solas forgotten, and throws her palm at the rift. Green energy shoots out and attaches and she feels the tug. _Just like sewing_ , she tells herself and begins her patchwork on the hole.

In her concentration of sealing the rift, she misses the shade coming at her from her left. It strikes at her and she loses her footing, falling into Solas. His arm encircles her waist, hand coming to rest on her hip, as he catches both himself and her. He slams his staff into the ground to balance them.

“Hi,” she breathes, heat blooming in her cheeks.

“Hello,” he answers, looking down at her.

He whips the staff in his right hand around and shoots a blast of fire at the shade that had knocked her into him, her body still pressed against his, chest to chest. She clears her throat and detaches herself from him, drawing her dagger from where she’d slide it into her vambrace earlier. It slides cleanly into the shade as she aims, once more, for where she imagines the creature’s heart to be.

She checks her immediate surroundings and, upon confirming there are no shades lurking near her, she turns her palm once more to the rift and begins the process of closing it. A blue haze drops over her eyes and then clears and she glances at Solas in time to see the same blue film cover his body and dissipate.

“A barrier,” he answers her unspoken question.

“I could have used that before,” she mutters, blush still upon her cheeks.

“Apologies. I shall attempt to be swifter in future battles.”

She’s not sure if his defensive tone is meant for her as she is sure she did not say something offensive enough to warrant it. Her brows knit together and a frown starts, but she’s distracted by the sudden tug in her palm. She makes a fist and pulls the rift closed. She hadn’t even had to think too much about closing this one. It had pretty much closed itself.

“The rift is gone. Open the gates!” Cassandra yells ahead of her, and a wooden gate she hadn’t noticed before slowly opens to another bridge.

Her stomach drops and she’s already shaking her head. No, she will not be walking onto this bridge. The last one had collapsed and this one looks to be much further up. She _will not_ go.

Cassandra sees her shaking her head, dread written all over her face, “Solas, can you calm her as you did earlier at Haven? She has a fear of heights. I cannot blame her for not wanting to walk this bridge, as the last we were on had been struck by a rogue bolt from the Breach and crumbled with us both on it.”

She hears no response, but then a hand is on her shoulder. A sweet breeze worms its way into her body, caressing her pounding heart. Her stomach stops clenching and she only then realizes she had been so tense. She takes deep breaths in through her nose and releases them slowly through her mouth, the way her mother had taught her when she would get upset as a child.

Elythia lets the cold breeze continue its lazy wandering and works on her breathing. She really doesn’t want to go on the bridge. She forces herself to step from Solas’s calming magic and heads for the stone structure.

A gasp escapes her as she takes a look over the side. If this one collapses, they will all perish from the height. She starts to hyperventilate, her empty stomach on the verge of dry heaves once more. Her body smacks the ground and she places her head between her knees, trying to get a hold on her breathing as the dizziness kicks in.

“I can’t,” she whispers to Cassandra, knowing fully well that she looks like a giant baby.

“You can and you will,” the Seeker warns.

She shakes her head, still positioned between her knees. They will have to knock her out to get her across this bridge. It is definitely not something she is going to be able to traverse on her own.

“Do you still have that elixir? The one that put me to sleep earlier?” she asks Solas, glancing at him from between her knees.

“I do,” he confirms, turning to Cassandra, “I believe if I give her only a fraction of the dose I administered earlier, she may sleep for no longer than an hour at most.”

“Fine, then, but I am not carrying her across.”

“Don’t look at me either,” Varric comments, walking ahead of them all, Bianca tucked securely to his back.

“I will see if I can find a soldier to charge with the task,” says the Seeker, turning to the bridge.

“Thank you, Cassandra,” Elythia sighs gratefully.

Solas squats beside her, a vial and dropper in hand. Cassandra stops in conversation on the bridge, motioning to the pair of them. The soldier nods his head, clasps his right hand over his heart, and heads their way.

“Give me your finger,” Solas tells her and she complies.

He places a drop on her finger and releases it back to her, “Rub it around your mouth. As it is not touching your tongue directly, the effects should not last long. An hour, as I stated previously to the Seeker.”

She nods and rubs her finger around her gums, as well as on and under her tongue. The taste is awful and she wonders how she hadn’t noticed him giving her the elixir earlier, when she had been barfing her guts up. But then, she had been a little preoccupied with emptying her stomach.

“Thanks,” she mumbles, eyes closed and consciousness creeping away from her.

.x.

Elythia wakes, body stretched out on a blanket. Cassandra, Varric, a hooded woman, and a man in religious garb stand to the side. Cassandra is shouting at the man while the other woman talks softly and Varric just listens to it all, amusement clear on his face.

“We are _not_ calling a retreat, Chancellor. The prisoner—”

“I care not. As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order you to take this criminal to Val Royeaux to face execution,” the man shouts over top of Cassandra, cutting her off.

She steams, almost visibly, and sneers, “’Order’ _me_? You are a glorified clerk. A bureaucrat!”

His retort is swift, “And you are a thug, but one who supposedly serves the Chantry!”

“We serve the Most Holy, Chancellor, as you well know,” says the other woman and Elythia recognizes her voice from the dungeon, _Leliana_.

“Justinia is dead. If you do not wish to obey my orders, then we must elect her replacement and obey _hers_ on the matter.”

Elythia has watched the whole thing in silence, until now, when she interrupts them all, “I feel like the Breach is a little more important than figuring out what to do with me right now.”

She wants to tell him that it’s also rude to be talking about electing someone when this Justinia has only just passed, but she keeps that comment to herself. A movement to her left catches her eye and she glances to see Solas lean casually against a tree. He bows his head to her, approval written plainly on his face for her interruption. Her blush starts its slow creep again. The Chancellor ignores her and turns back to Cassandra and Leliana.

“Call a retreat, Seeker. Our position here is hopeless. You must abandon this craziness before more lives are lost.”

“We can stop this before it is too late. Her mark closes the rifts and will close the Breach, which is growing ever larger. Closing it is the only way to save more lives, Chancellor,” Cassandra all but spits at him, her disgust plain as day.

“Our forces can charge as a distraction while we go through the mountains,” Leliana suggests, ignoring their argument altogether.

Elythia gathers herself from the ground and joins them, standing beside Varric. The Chancellor, tired of getting nowhere with them, storms off toward the bridge.

“We lost a squad on that path, Leliana. It’s too risky, especially as she is our only hope at this point of closing the Breach. It would better to charge with the soldiers.”

Both women turn to Elythia expectantly. She stares at them, her face scrunching. Surely they do not mean for _her_ to decide for them.

“The mountain path will be fastest, but it is also indirect. Soldiers will act as a distraction,” Leliana explains amidst her silence, “And charging with the soldiers would be a sustained assault, but we may lose scouts in the pass. As we cannot agree upon one or other, it seems we need a tie-breaker.”

“Why should I decide?” Elythia asks bewilderedly.

“You bear the mark,” Solas chimes in from beside his tree.

Cassandra nods in agreement, “And you are the one we must keep alive.”

She considers for a moment. If they take the mountain path they can get to the Breach quicker, but will lose soldiers. Charging with soldiers with lose scouts in the mountains. It’s a lose-lose situation. Casualties on both sides. It’s not a decision she should be making. But scouts are supposed to be good at hiding and soldiers will charge no matter what, so she chooses the one she hopes will amount to less deaths.

“We charge, then.”

Decision made, Cassandra, Elythia, Varric, and Solas set out on the path once more. Leliana is left to gather people from the Valley and meet them at the Breach via the mountain path. None of them talk, the impending battle at the forefronts of their minds, but Elythia hums quietly to herself. The closer they get to the Breach, the more anxious she grows. Her hand has sparked several times along the way, but the pain has definitely become more manageable each time.

Ahead, people run back and forth. Some soldiers, gathering weapons and rushing through a stone arch. Others in religious attire, praying over bodies wrapped in cloth. Cassandra walks into the fray, straight to a rack set up by a tent, weapons on display. She reaches out and switches her sword for a cleaner, sharper one and turns to Elythia.

“I would suggest you pick one. You will need it.”

Elythia nods and examines the rack. There are several swords on display, as well as bows off to the side. She has no experience with either. She is about to tell the Seeker so when Solas speaks up, handing her a slim blade.

“Perhaps, as you have demonstrated an easy skill with the dagger, you might acquire another and carry the set on you.”

She pulls the other from her vambrace and takes the one Solas offers. Weighing them both in her hands, she’s surprised to feel they weigh about the same, even though one blade is slightly longer. She can work with these.

Shouting pulls their attention to the stone archway. Soldiers rush through to help the fighting on the other side. They waste no time and follow. A ball of fire crashes down and strikes a group of soldiers near the arch, bodies exploding on impact. Blood splatters the walls and Elythia’s party. She stops, stunned at the sight.

This shouldn’t be happening. She shouldn’t be here. This is wrong. Too many people keep _dying_ in this world. How long until she dies, as well? Mere minutes, likely, as the Breach hovers just beyond the heaps of rubble. Her heart beats staccato, veins pumping too much blood through them too quickly. She feels her body start to go numb.

“It’s okay to be afraid, as long as you don’t let it beat you,” Varric tells her, a hand on her elbow to steady her.

She feels a tear slip down her dirtied cheek and wipes it away angrily. _This isn’t right_ , she cries to herself. This is too much for one person, especially an unsuspecting person from another dimension who’s not used to any of this. These people run around like this is almost natural, but there is nothing natural about any of this.

“Dwell later, kid. You have another rift to close.”

Cassandra and Solas have gone ahead of them, helping the soldiers fighting the demons pouring from the small rift. Elythia wipes her nose on her green sweater and takes a deep breath, following Varric in. He stands back from the fray, readying Bianca to fire. Daggers palmed, she walks into the fight.

She slashes at a shade in front of her, and cuts too low. Its stomach rips open, but it fights on. Solas lowers a barrier over her, but she ignores him and focuses on the shade in front of her, noticing another break from a group of soldiers to slither her way. She doesn’t hesitate as she dances forward and stabs at shade one. Shade two circles, trying to come up behind her. She spins and lashes out, missing again.

Claws come bearing down on her and she braces for the impact, but nothing comes. The creature bounces off her in a hiss. Surprised, she steps toward it again and this time her dagger hits home, connecting where its heart should be. It slinks to the ground in a heap of mists.

Elythia turns to see a blonde soldier finish the second shade that had tried to flank her. She smiles gratefully at the man. He inclines his head as a show of acknowledgement and turns back to the other soldiers still fighting the wraiths and shades pouring through the tear. She checks her surroundings and begins to close the breach, feeling secure with Solas’s barrier still around her – she can make out the slight hum of it this time, a soft buzz against her skin.

As she finishes closing the rift, she notices most of the soldiers sag, whether in relief or from exhaustion she cannot tell. Perhaps both. The blonde man who had helped with the second shade marches to her.

“Well done,” he smiles at her.

“She is becoming quite proficient at this,” Solas tells him.

Between the two men, she feels her blush coming back. At some point she will need to learn how to keep the blasted thing from her neck and face, otherwise she may explode from the rush of blood to the surface of her skin. She mutters a thanks to both.

“Cullen Rutherford,” he says, extending his hand.

“Elythia Lavellan,” she replies, shaking his hand quickly.

“The way to the temple should be clear. Leliana and her scouts were spotted not too far way from here. Maybe five minutes,” Cullen informs Cassandra, who has joined their group again.

“Then we’d best be moving along.”

The Seeker turns and heads toward the Breach, larger than Elythia had originally assumed when she had seen it back at the village in Haven. Here, the massive rip hovers menacingly in the air, hundreds of feet tall at the least. She isn’t sure she’ll be able to close it.

“Maker watch over you, for all our sakes,” Cullen calls from behind her as he helps a wounded soldier back to the camp outside the ruins.

 _Indeed_ , she thinks, but has never been a woman of faith. God had not helped her in her own dimension, ripping everything she ever loved from her. Why would their ‘Maker’ be any different?

She follows her group through the debris, just in time to meet Leliana and a cluster of people making their way from the snowy path to her left.

“Welcome to the Temple of Sacred Ashes,” Leliana greets her in a solemn voice and then adds, “Again.”

“What’s left of it, anyway,” Varric mutters beside her.

“This is where our people saw you thrown from the Fade. They said a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was,” Cassandra tells her somberly.

“I’m sorry,” Elythia whispers.

“It is of little consequence now, as what is done cannot be undone. We must move on.”

“I’m not sure I can even reach that thing. It has to be hundreds of feet in the air.”

“You need only connect with the lowest point, I believe. That should be attainable from below it. We should make our way down,” Solas remarks from behind her.

They begin their descent into the temple, a charred mess. Goosebumps break out across on Elythia’s arms. This is where they had found her. This is the sight of the explosion they think her guilty of. No wonder they think her guilty. Had she watched a woman fall from a portal after an explosion that killed a bunch of people, she would probably think her culpable as well.

 _But guilty people don’t stick around at the crime scene_ , she thinks bitterly. She should know. Years of investigating the death of her parents, a robbery turned murder, had led detectives nowhere. She disgusts herself, thinking of their death in such a desensitized way. Her heart aches – for her parents, for the people lost along the way here, for the people in the explosion, for those they have yet to lose.

“Help me!” screams a woman in a thick, French accent.

Elythia stops in her tracks, the voice tickling at her mind. It sounds _so_ familiar.

“That is Most Holy’s voice,” Cassandra gasps.

“Now is the hour of our victory,” booms a male voice and Elythia’s skin crawls.

“This is so familiar, but I can’t quite remember it,” she tells them.

Light flares from the Breach and Elythia’s palm sparks. In the light, an image of an elderly woman appears. She is held mid-air as light swirls around her arms. A tall creature stands before her, a sphere held out, green lights swirling within. The light jumps from the woman to the sphere and she cries out.

“Why are you doing this?” she asks the man-creature.

The scene flickers out. They stand still where they had all stopped to watch the scene before them. Nothing happens as they wait for several heartbeats.

“I don’t understand. What was that?” Cassandra asks in frustration.

“Echoes of what happened here. The Fade bleeds into this place. This rift is not sealed, but it is closed. I believe if we open it, we can then seal it properly. However, opening it may call forth attention from the other side,” Solas informs them.

A spark in Elythia’s palm warns her just before another flash occurs, another image to leave only more questions. In this one, Elythia runs forward, but is knocked back by the man. The woman kicks the sphere from his hand. It lands in front of Elythia and she reaches out, grabbing it from the floor, a bright light erupting from it. The explosion. She _had_ caused it.

“I _am_ guilty,” her voice cracks on the last word, a lump forming in her throat.

The image blinks out of existence again. Cassandra, either angry at her or the situation in general, marches forward again. She ignores everyone around her, only stopping when they round the corner, a large red stone jutting into the sky.

“Seeker, this stuff is red lyrium,” Varric says stiffly.

“I see it, Varric.”

“But what’s it doing _here_? This stuff is evil. Whatever you do, don’t touch it,” he warns them.

“The magic here could have drawn on the lyrium beneath the temple, corrupted it,” Solas suggests.

“Here comes another memory,” Elythia notifies them, her hand flaring to life again.

A rift opens, shining so brightly in the image that she can’t make out anything on the other side of it. Two bodies fly through the tear: a boy in tattered clothing and a wide-brimmed hat, and herself. She watches as she jumps to her feet and turns to the rift, hand reaching for something, or some _one_ , and then the rift closes. Her image self stands staring at the spot where the rift had been, jumping when the boy places his hand on her shoulder. She pats his hand, mumbling something the image doesn’t convey. The boy says something back to her and then she collapses to the floor, head in her hands. He sits beside her and pets her hair and her body falls sideways into him as she passes out.

“The soldiers who found you mentioned nothing of a boy,” Cassandra mutters as the image disappears.

“I don’t remember him either, but then I don’t remember any of this,” Elythia tells her, grimacing.

Cassandra squats and jumps from the path they were on to the area below and walks to the other side of the giant rift, where Leliana and scouts and soldiers are lined on the path they had just been. Varric follows suit, leaving Elythia and Solas behind.

“I imagine that whatever comes from this rift will be larger than the ones before. You will need to attempt to close it a little at a time until it is fully secured. And do not fret, as I will keep my barrier around you as much as I possibly can. Still, you should be on your guard, as it may break depending on the strength of a hit,” Solas tells her, dropping to the area below and holding a hand out to help her down.

She nods and takes his offered hand, jumping from the ledge.

“On your go,” Cassandra tells her.

Everyone is staring at either her or the rift before her. She can feel herself tensing again and remembers to take a couple of deep breaths. She’s been doing this all day; what’s one more, little _big_ rift? Shaking her glowing green hand out in preparation, she works up her nerve and holds both her daggers in her right.

Her left hand stretches up, as far as she can reach, and light pours forth, connecting at the bottom of the rift. She almost sighs in relief as she was unsure whether it would actually link or not from such a distance. This one feels different though. It feels like someone ripped a hole and then tried unsuccessfully to patch it back together. She imagines the thread weaving through, a crooked thing winding along the entire thing and pulls the tear open.

A growl splits the air and a gale rushes from the hole, whipping her hair out of her loose bun. She covers her face with her hands, the wind catching her breath and sucking it from her lungs. A large shadow forms on the ground in front of her as she casts her eyes down to keep the wind out. She glances up and then falls, crawling crab style as she scoots as quickly as possible away form the creature coming out of the rift.

“Oh, _fuck_!” she exclaims, aware that it is the first time she has used profanity in years, but the expletive rolls right off her tongue.

“Oh, fuck, indeed,” Varric says grimly from somewhere beside her.

She forces herself to stand and looks around for her daggers. They’re just out of her reach, beneath the creature that has now fully fallen from the rift. The tall, alien creature a thing of nightmares. As she watches the scaly, horned beast, a bolt of lightning curls over its entire body. Solas’s barrier, as promised, falls over her.

“My daggers are under it,” she tells Solas, who happens to be the closest to her.

“Give me but a moment,” he says, turning to the soldiers beside him and giving orders.

The group runs off to the right of her and begins their attack. The demon roars as the first strike, a fireball from Solas, lands square in its chest. It stumbles away from Elythia and the others, heading for Solas and the soldiers. She gives the thing a wide berth and gathers her daggers up.

“Try to close the Breach,” Solas yells from across the ruins.

She stands under the rift once more and reaches for it again. Her hand connects and she starts sewing it together. A sweat breaks out on her forehead and upper lip. This one is different, bigger, too big. She imagines it’s what trying to sew a hot air balloon together with a plain, small needle and thin thread would be like. Desperately, she hopes her needle doesn’t break, the needle being herself. But little by little, with immense effort, she closes the top of the breach.

The demon roars and swipes at Solas, an arc of purple energy – _lightning_ – missing him barely as he dodges to the side. One of the soldiers is not nearly as lucky as the electrified whip tears into his armor and turns his entire being into charred nothingness. Her heart hammers in her chest.

A wall of ice starts to form on the creature’s lower legs, holding it in place. Cassandra and the other soldiers with swords rush forward, slamming their blades into the creature. It howls in pain and drops to its knees. Varric and the others with bows fire arrow after arrow at it.

Elythia pulls her palm from the rift, needing a quick break. The thing feels like it is sucking every last bit of energy from her. Two shades slip out from the rift in her short rest. She takes a breath and starts forward toward one of them. She plunges her dagger in its back and it wails, vanishing into mists. The other has already slithered across the battlefield to a group of soldiers who fight it off quickly.

She tosses her hand to the sky again. This time the rift seems to close a little easier, but still consuming large amounts of her energy. A wave of dizziness hits her as she pulls her hand back. The wretched thing is definitely draining her. She leans against a mountain of stone rubble beside her, trying to get rid of her lightheadedness, and rubs her temples.

The hum from Solas’s barrier winks in and out across her skin. She frowns and looks around for him. Through the flickering haze she sees the demon lash out, its arm coming into contact with his barrier and bouncing off. He looks exhausted, his staff whipping through the air slower than when she had watched him fight previously. His stance is off as well, his shoulders hunching slightly as though he carries a heavy weight.

She sucks in a deep breath and fights through her vertigo to the rift. _Last one_ , she tells herself and connects once more. The bottom is the hardest bit to close, the mass trying to burst from it. Like twisting the lower bit of a tied balloon and then trying to force too much air into the twisted area.

Her hand still links to the rift as it sucks from and pushes against her. She doesn’t let go, pulling with all her might to close it. Vacantly, she’s aware of the shouts of victory in the distance as the soldiers finish the demon off. Solas’s barrier settles back around her, but she hardly notices. Her hand starts burning where she’s pulling at the rift.

She feels her legs wobble. A cry leaves her body and she wants to collapse but forces her hand into a fist and pushes against the Breach, willing the mass back so that she can get the last bit closed. The light in her palm dies down to a dull green as every last bit of energy leaves her body in the effort.

Before she can hit the ground, hands catch her. The last thing she sees is Solas talking to her, but his words fall on deaf ears as she loses herself to the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Andaran atish’an = formal elven greeting “Enter this place of peace” || ”I dwell in this place, a place of peace”?  
> *Ma garas sal = You come again
> 
> Holy monster, guys. This one spilled out of me and ended up being a little longer than expected. Whoops xD  
> A lot of the dialogue is taken from the game. Hope you all don't mind! I also plan to use some of the party banter from the game throughout the story, where it applies.  
> Thanks for reading! I'll be starting on the next chapter ASAP. Stay tuned! ;D
> 
> Also, I kind of rushed a little to get this chapter out, so I may go back and make small changes here and there.


	3. Chapter 3

_Bodies line the pebbled path in the village outside of Haven, each vying for a peek at the woman who had saved them. They carry her on a stretcher made of hide, all but a peep of red hair hidden under thick furs. Whispers ripple through the crowd, several muttering, “Herald of Andraste,” while others pray as they pass by._

_The soldiers carry the Herald to a cabin inside the gates at Haven and gently lay her unconscious body onto a waiting bed. A bald elven man snaps his fingers and calls forth a fire in the scones hanging about the walls and the hearth opposite the bed. He sets vials out on the bedside table and checks the woman’s pulse before gingerly inspecting the rest of her body._

_Most of the soldiers have cleared from the room, but a couple remain to protect their new Herald. The elven man asks them to leave so that he may work on healing her. They refuse to leave entirely and linger just outside the cabin door._

_A young elven woman is instructed to undress the woman down to her smalls. Awkwardness hangs about the room as it is revealed that she wears a lace bralette – a sheer, black piece – and matching underwear that fit more like a tight pair of shorts. The elven man turns from her sleeping form and excuses himself, returning after the elven woman has replaced her garments with the proper underthings._

_The first day of recuperation is the hardest as the woman’s unmoving body fights for shallow breaths. On the second day they all feel a small sense of relief as her breathing evens, but her form remains still on the cot. The third day brings celebration as it is announced she tosses and turns, uttering words in her slumber, estimated to wake at any moment._

_An evacuation of the cabin is ordered so as not to alarm her when she finally wakes. All but the elven woman leave her to her restless bouts of sleep. The woman stokes the fire and goes about reorganizing the room, biding time._

.x.

Elythia’s eyes flutter open to a wide room. She slides her numb arm beneath her torso and pushes up. Her breath hisses through her teeth at the effort and a crash at the foot of her bed catches her attention. A small woman with pointy ears ducks to gather what she dropped, disappearing behind the foot of the bed.

“Where am I?” Elythia croaks the question to the woman.

“I’m so sorry, my lady! I had no idea you’d woken, swear it,” she replies, jumping to her feet with the contents she’d dropped.

Confused, Elythia tells her, “It’s fine.”

“You’re back in Haven, my lady. They say you saved us by stopping the Breach from growing with the mark on your hand, which the healer says has also stopped growing. It’s all anyone has talked about for the last three days.”

“Stopped the Breach from growing? I didn’t close it?”

“No, my lady. It’s still there, but they say it’s steady and that we’re safe for now, thanks to you,” she tells her, the admiration in her voice making Elythia uncomfortable.

A knock sounds at the door, startling the elven woman. Elythia is thankful for the distraction as the woman had been staring too intensely at her. Never in her life has she ever seen anyone look at her with such veneration.

The woman chats with the person at the door and turns to Elythia, “Lady Cassandra requests your presence in the Chantry.”

“The Chantry?” she questions.

“It’s the big building up the hill. You can’t miss it, my lady.”

“I will escort her, Sana,” comes a kind, welcomed voice from the crack in the door.

Solas steps into the cabin, dismissing the woman. Elythia pushes herself into a sitting position and frowns. Her bra is missing completely but, she notes thankfully, her underwear is still on. A white band wraps her torso from the top of her breasts to her ribs and a thin pair of white capris sit loosely on her hips. She blushes deeply at the thought of someone undressing her so completely. Her eyes widen and she looks at Solas.

“You didn’t—”

“No. Sana replaced your undergarments. They have been washed and put away,” he interrupts, nodding to the wooden chest sitting at the foot of the bed.

She gathers the extra fabric at her hips and tucks it into her underwear to keep the pants from falling to the ground as she stands and heads for the chest he had motioned. Her clothing is folded neatly inside and she pulls it all out, turning back to Solas.

Elythia clears her throat and looks pointedly at the door and back, “Do you mind?”

He leaves her to change, waiting outside the cabin door. Her body aches here and there and she still feels drained, but not enough to put off meeting with Cassandra.

She grimaces as she dresses and thinks about the events at the Breach. The flashes of light that had shown the explosion was, in fact, her fault. It hadn’t been intentional, but that hardly matters when confronted with the effects of the explosion. She would die here in this dimension, an executed prisoner. _An inadvertent terrorist_ , her mind whispers. Her chest clenches at the thought.

She tosses the white capris carelessly on the bed, sliding into her black joggers, and attempts to unwrap the binding over her breasts to no avail. Sana has put the blasted thing on tightly and hidden the ends. She scowls, rolling her bra up and jamming it into her pants pocket. Her black compression shirt has been mended, the hole from the breastplate non-existent, and she notices that her sneakers have also been cleaned.

“I thought to warn you before you walk the path to the Chantry,” Solas begins as she slips out of the cabin and into the cool winter air, “Those who fought at the Breach have circulated tales of the brave woman who has saved us all, as well as the flashes of images they had borne witness to… Some seek a beacon amidst the darkness to ease their suffering and, as is customary, have turned to faith to guide them. They think the woman reported to have been in the rift behind you to be Andraste: a holy figure to them as Bride of their Maker and prophet, and believe her to have blessed and watched over you in the Fade. You have been ordained Herald of Andraste.”

“But—I caused the explosion. I was – _am_ – a prisoner. They thought me guilty not too long ago,” she chokes out, perplexedly.

“Do not be deceived; many yet hold you responsible.”

He clasps his hands behind him and begins walking the worn trail from the cabin. She follows, watching as men and women scramble about the path ahead. They push and pull each other, fighting to gain access to a clear view of her. Soldiers stand tall, hands fisted over their hearts. Children weave between legs and stare at her, clear adoration on their little faces.

Her heart beats wildly in her chest as she passes them by, some staring and some glaring. She moves closer to Solas as she walks, near enough to draw comfort from his semi-familiar form without actually touching him.

A tiny hand slides into hers and stops her in her tracks. The mass of blonde curls looks expectantly at her and tugs on her hand. She bends to hear the little girl’s words.

“Is it true?” she asks hesitantly at first, elaborating in a gush at Elythia’s silent confusion, “That you saved us and Andraste saved you and that you’re an elf, like me.”

Denial bubbles immediately to her lips about being an elf, but she stops herself. She looks at the little girl with the pointed ears and the crowd, several men and women with the same ears. In this strange world, her ears are normal, she’s normal.

“I don’t know about this Andraste, but this mark on my hand did steady the Breach,” Elythia answers honestly and then offers, “And my ears are pointed.”

She can’t bring herself to outright declare that she's an elf. As far as she knows it’s a lie, and she’s never been one for lying. But if this little girl wants to believe that someone ‘like her’ is capable of saving people, why not let her.

Satisfied with her answer, the girl skips back into the crowd of people. They had all been silent during her conversation with the girl, but now it seems every one of them talk at her at once. Some mutter things about the ‘Maker’ and blessings and Andraste, but the word Herald rolls through the crowd the most. She blushes at the attention and tries to ignore the people gawking at her as she nearly jogs to catch up to Solas, who thankfully waits at a set of stairs for her.

“I don’t like attention. Is there not another way we can get there without walking through the crowds?” she asks him as quietly as possible so the surrounding people don’t hear her.

“I’m afraid not, da’lin.”

Defeated and tense, she follows him up the steps, tents and more cabins coming into view. He leads her to the left, where more people await. Again, the soldiers snap to attention and salute. She turns to Solas, wondering about the term ‘da’lin’ as he and Wisdom had both used them when addressing her.

“What does that word mean? I’ve heard it several times now.”

He considers her out of the corner of his eye before answering, “Child, or ‘little one.’”

She blushes and grimaces at the same time. Of course the one guy she’d found attractive in a while would think her a child. He’s clearly older, though she had assumed him to only be in his early thirties initially. But using the term ‘child’ when speaking to her has her reconsidering his age. Perhaps she's just bad with ages. 

“I doubt I’m much younger than yourself,” she retorts, crossing her arms over her chest in, she’s fully aware, a childish manner but doesn’t care in her embarrassment.

His brow raises pointedly at her arms. She rolls her eyes at him and walks quicker to leave him behind so he can no longer see the bright red of her cheeks. Hugging her arms closer to herself, she ignores everyone and their incessant whispers. The building Cassandra had kept her prisoner in previously is just ahead and she all but runs in her haste to get away from the crowds.

The building is empty of people, thankfully, and she finally slows her rushed gait. She looks behind her, expecting Solas to be on her heels but he isn’t. He has turned at the doors, heading off to the right of the building, toward another cluster of cabins.

Voices down the hall echo loudly in the silence of the Chantry. She hears Cassandra and walks toward the door. She debates knocking when the door is thrust open, Chancellor Roderick standing before her.

“You,” he spits at her and turns to the guards standing just to the sides of the door, “Chain her. I want her prepared for travel to the capital for trial.”

“Disregard that and leave us,” Cassandra tells them.

They salute her, hands fisting over their chests, and leave the room. The Chancellor walks back to Cassandra, his face inches from hers.

“You walk a dangerous line, Seeker. She should be taken to Val Royeaux to be tried by whomever becomes Divine.”

“I do not believe her guilty,” she tells him, a sincere gaze aimed at Elythia before turning angrily back to the Chancellor.

“The prisoner has failed. The Breach remains in the sky and for all you know, she intended it this way. It is not for you to decide her guilt, Seeker. Your duty is to serve the Chantry.”

“My duty is to serve the principles on which the Chantry was founded, Chancellor, as is yours. The Breach may be stable for now, but it is still a threat. I will not ignore it, nor will I send our best chance at closing it away just to appease _you_.”

Elythia watches them quietly, taking their words into consideration. Leliana stands at the corner of the large wooden table – _a war table_ – covered in maps and papers, with little wooden pieces strewn about, also watching the exchange in silence. The hooded woman catches Elythia looking and turns her eyes to her. She gives her a quick, tight smile and turns back to the Chancellor.

“You did not see the images at the Breach. Most Holy called out to this woman for help when she was assaulted by someone else, someone she knew but did not expect. Perhaps they died with the others—or maybe they have allies who yet live,” Leliana cuts into their conversation.

“Are you saying _I_ am a suspect, but _not_ the prisoner?” he demands.

“You, and many others. And no, _she_ is no longer a suspect.”

“So her survival and that _thing_ on her hand is all just a coincidence?” he asks red-faced, spittle flying in his anger.

Cassandra looks at him disapprovingly, “Providence. The Maker has sent her to us in our darkest hour. I am not afraid to admit that I was wrong. Perhaps I still am. I will not, however, pretend that she is not exactly what we needed when we needed it.”

Leliana approaches Cassandra and hands her a thick book. She takes it and slams in on the table, barely missing the Chancellor’s hand. Elythia flinches at the unexpected sound and the look on Cassandra’s face.

“Do you know what this is?” she asks him.

When he scowls and doesn’t answer she continues, “It is a writ from the Divine, granting us authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn. We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order with or without your approval, Chancellor.”

Like he did at the forward camp, he turns and marches away from them, slamming the door behind him. Elythia stares at the floor, refusing to look at Cassandra as she glares at the closed door.

“This is the Divine’s directive: find those who will stand against the chaos and rebuild the Inquisition of old. We have no leader, no numbers, and now no Chantry support. We are not ready, but we have no choice. We must act now, with you at our side,” Leliana tells her, waiting for her response.

“I don’t know what the ‘Inquisition of old’ is. I don’t understand a lot of what you guys were just talking about, but if I can help seal the Breach for good, I will. I can’t promise you more than that,” she replies earnestly.

Leliana inclines her head in approval at Elythia’s answer. Cassandra leans heavily against the war table, arms outstretched and her head hung low.

“The Inquisition of old were a people who banded together to restore order in a world gone mad. We need those who can do what must be done to unite under a single banner once more. You should know that many, like the Chancellor, still believe you guilty of the explosion at the conclave and call for your head,” Cassandra mutters as she pauses to let the weight of her words sink in and looks up at Elythia, “The path we are walking will not be easy, but hopefully we can fix it before it’s too late. In the meantime, as long as you are with the Inquisition, we will provide you with the means necessary to figure out a way for you to return to your dimension once this is over as well as protection from those seeking to do you harm.”

“So, basically, nothing has changed,” Elythia jokes.

“You are no longer a prisoner,” Leliana offers.

“And yet I’m still in this world, people still want me dead, and the Breach still needs to be closed. But yeah, I’m no longer in chains.”

“We should take victories where we can find them,” Cassandra tells her, a small smile tugging at usually downturned lips.

“Fair enough, Seeker,” she concedes, leaving the two women to chat quietly amongst themselves in search of food as her stomach growls loudly.

.x.

After finding food, or rather, having it shoved into her hands and face when she’d stopped to ask someone where to find some, she’d made her way back to the Chantry. She was unsure what to do with herself. Should she be doing something? Surely they hadn’t meant for her to just sit around twiddling her thumbs.

“Does it trouble you?” Cassandra questions, motioning to her left hand.

Elythia shrugs, “Not really. It hurt before, each time the Breach expanded. Now it’s more of a dull crawling sensation in my hand. I know it’s there, but if I don’t concentrate on it, it’s easy enough to forget.”

“At least it is stable, then. You have given us time, and Solas believes that a second attempt to close the Breach might succeed, provided the mark has more power. The same level of power used to open the Breach in the first place, which is not easy to come by.”

“Magic, right? What about these mages you guys keep mentioning?”

Cassandra opens her mouth to answer, but the door to the war room opens. A handsome blonde man with a thick fur around his shoulders, vaguely familiar, steps in, followed by Leliana and a finely dressed woman of gold and blue.

“You’ve met Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition’s forces,” Cassandra announces the man.

“Pleased you survived, Elythia Lavellan,” he says with an easy smile and pleasantly cordial voice. Charming.

“And this is Lady Josephine Montilyet, our ambassador and chief diplomat,” Leliana says, introducing the dark-haired woman, clipboard of sorts and pen in hand.

“I would say ‘andaran atish’an’ but we’ve been informed you are not of this dimension and claim you are not elven, so I suppose a simple ‘hello’ will suffice,” she remarks in an accent heavier even than Cassandra’s and offers a kind smile.

“And of course, you know Leliana,” Cassandra tells her.

“My position here involves a degree of—”

“She’s our spymaster.”

“Yes. Tactfully put, Cassandra,” Leliana smiles and shakes her head at the woman, clearly amused at her interruption.

“I’m Elythia. Loner, dancer, occasional singer, and weird girl who got dumped into a weird world and ended up with a glowing green hand. That’s pretty much it. Nice to meet you guys,” she introduces herself to them.

An awkward silence commences until Cassandra interrupts with, “We were talking about how her mark needs more power to close the Breach for good.”

“Which means we must approach either the rebel mages or the Templars for help, neither of which will even speak to us yet. The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition… and you, specifically,” Josephine tells them, her pen pointed at Elythia.

“The mages would make—” Leliana begins, cut off by Cullen.

“The templars could serve—”

Cassandra interrupts him with, “We need power, Commander. Enough magic poured into that mark—”

“Might destroy us all. Templars could suppress the Breach, weaken it so—”

“Pure speculation,” Leliana cuts in.

“ _I_ was a Templar. I know what they’re capable of.”

Elythia watches as they each seem to know what the other is going to say and talks over them before a point can be made. The room falls quiet for a moment as they look between other. Josephine is the one to break the silence this time, addressing Elythia.

“They are calling you ‘Herald of Andraste,’ and though you may not claim to be, you have all the similarities of an elf. That frightens the Chantry. The remaining Clerics have declared it blasphemy and we heretics for harboring you. It limits our options either way,” she turns back to the group, “Approaching the mages or the Templars for help is currently out of the question.

“Quite the title, isn’t it? How do you feel about it?” Cullen asks Elythia.

“I don’t really have an opinion on the matter. I know nothing of your Andraste. Or the mages. Or the templars. Much like Jon Snow, and I know you all don’t understand that saying but – I know nothing.”

“I suppose if you are to stay to help with the Breach, it may perhaps be within all our interests that you understand what is happening. I shall inquire after an educator,” Josephine tells her, scribbling away on the papers on her board.

“And I have seen you on the battlefield. While you are not completely useless, there is much to be improved where your fighting skills are concerned. You will train with the Commander and myself when not in study or otherwise occupied,” Cassandra orders.

“And in the meantime? I’m not really sure what to do with myself here.”

“A Chantry Cleric by the name Mother Giselle has asked to speak with you. She is not far and her assistance could be invaluable. I can have one of my agents inform you of all the basics before speaking with her,” Leliana offers, the small challenge not going unnoticed by Elythia.

“If you think her help invaluable, why send me? Even if your agent tells me what I need to know to talk with her, who’s to say I won’t mess it up anyway? And if she’s part of the Chantry and the Chantry is against me…” she shakes her head, “This doesn’t feel right.”

“I understand she is a reasonable sort. Perhaps she does not agree with her sisters. From what I know of her, she is a kind soul and not the sort to involve herself in violence. I am sure you’ll do fine, no matter the words exchanged.”

Elythia looks at Leliana doubtfully. This woman has more faith in her than should be allowed if she thinks she won’t screw it up royally. Elythia isn’t one for religion – not since her parents… What God would allow such a thing to take place?

She remembers the scene with almost perfect clarity. Her school had had a dance and, at the insistence of her mother, she had attended. She’d been thirteen at the time, full of hormones and unwarranted anger at everything. Though, that day, she’d been angry because of a kid who’d made fun of her pointed ears at the dance. She had been fuming when she’d jumped from the carpool ride and stomped up the sidewalk to her home.

The door had been ajar, but she hadn’t thought anything of it. She’d just yelled, “I’m home” when she’d stopped dead in her tracks at the scene in her living room. Blood, a deep crimson, had been splattered against the impeccably clean, white walls. The white fur rug her mother had adored was soaked through with red as well and there, on the other side of the glass table in the middle of the rug, had lain her mother.

Her neck had been slit, the cut stretching from one side to the other, and the knife had been left, plunged into her neck. She had been laying on her stomach, arm stretched toward the broken frame containing their family photo. Her dark red hair matted and blended with the blood in the rug. Eyes the color of Elythia’s, an electric blue interspersed with shades of emerald, stared blankly at her.

Couches had been overturned, papers scattered everywhere, broken pieces of lamp strewn about the room. She had sank to the ground, unable to find the strength to move. She hadn’t even seen her father in the mess. At some point, she had found the cordless phone on the floor and called 911.

The police had carried her out in blankets, rubbing her back and talking gently to her, but she hadn’t heard their words. She had watched as two stretchers were rolled out of the house. She’d wanted to look upon the bodies beneath the white cloths, to convince herself that it wasn’t her parents under there—

Cassandra’s voice pulls her from the memory.

“I will accompany you to the Hinterlands to speak with her. We should look for opportunities to expand the Inquisition’s influence while we’re there. In the meantime, let’s think of other options for closing the Breach. I won’t leave this all in the hands of our Herald.”

And with that, they continue their back and forth chats. Elythia listens intently, trying to learn all she can, but at some point they lose her interest and she excuses herself under the guise of seeking fresh air.

.x.

When she set out to walk the village of Haven, it hadn’t been her intention to find Solas. But here she is, standing at the foot of the steps leading to a cabin where he leans casually against the wall, book in hand. She watches him for a moment, nerves jumping for reasons she’d rather not dwell on.

“If you are going to stare, da’lin, perhaps you might do so where you cannot be seen. It is considered rude in this dimension,” he tells her without looking up from his book.

“I don’t appreciate being called a child.”

“I had meant no offense when previously I called you so. Now I may only call you something different should you act in a manner befitting your age instead of stomping around huffing with your arms crossed.”

“Old man,” she grumbles to the air and climbs the stairs.

“I heard that,” he says, causing a smile to form on her lips.

She slides into a sitting position atop the lowest point on the stone wall running beside the cabin and turns sideways, facing the mountains in the distance. She tucks one leg beneath her and kicks the other back and forth. He snaps his book closed, leaving it on a crate beside the cabin and joins her at the wall in his usual stance: shoulders wide, back straight, hands clasped behind him.

“The Chosen of Andraste, a blessed hero sent to save us all,” he says while shaking his smooth head with a small, quick lift of his lips and sideways glance at her.

“I have no interest in being the hero of this story,” she tells him earnestly.

“Pragmatic, but ultimately irrelevant. We are at war and every great war has its heroes. I’m just curious what kind you’ll be.”

She shrugs and looks away. She’d never been anyone’s hero, though she always tries to help when she can. Being looked at the way she is by these people and being called their hero is disconcerting. More than disconcerting – it’s downright ridiculous. On occasion she catches herself still waiting to wakeup and find this is all just a dream. But until then, she’d made a promise to help them as much as she’s able.

“If I have to be a hero, I’d prefer to be the one that wins and lives to find a way home when this is all over with, I suppose.”

“Then let us hope we succeed,” he says firmly, staring into the distance.

“I have a question,” she says hesitantly, trying and failing to act nonchalant, “Would you like to join us on our journey? Some place called the Hinterlands. We’re to meet some mother of the Chantry or something. I don’t really know the details yet. Leliana’s ‘agent’ is supposed to brief me on the way. And you did a great job before with your barriers and keeping me alive and whatnot that I thought maybe it would be better to have you along. Just in case, you know. Better safe than sorry—”

Realizing that she’s rambling, she snaps her mouth shut. She braids the ends of her unbound hair to keep her fingers busy, trying to slyly pull it to conceal the red blooming along her cheeks. She refuses to look at him, though she’s fairly certain he’s studying her again, as he has multiple times since they first met.

“I don’t believe denying the Herald would grant me many favors, so I will stay until the Breach has been closed and you are returned home. As well, I shall accompany you on any journey you deem necessary in the meantime.”

Her tension releases on an exhale and her fingers untangle from her hair. She turns and slides from the wall, happy he’d agreed. She knows she’s asked him to join her for more reasons than just his barrier, but she refuses to acknowledge them. For now, she’s content just to keep him close for her protection.

“Thanks! We’re to head out first thing in the morning,” she calls as she bounds down the steps in search of Varric.

.x.

“Herald!” the hairy chested, dwarven man calls as Elythia rounds the corner of the bar – nay, _tavern_ , she’d been told.

“Just the man I was looking for,” she smiles at him.

“Well, now that the Seeker’s out of earshot,” he says, joining her on her walk around Haven, “How are you holding up with all this? I mean, you’ve gone from being the most wanted criminal in all of Thedas to joining the armies of the faithful. Most people would have spread that out over more than a few days.”

“I’m the ambitious sort. Just wait, I’ll be queen of something here before I leave,” she jokes, drawing a laugh from both of them.

“Oh, I have no doubt.”

She sobers, telling him earnestly, “I’ve been better. I’m still a little drained from attempting to close the Breach, but I guess that’s to be expected. People are calling me a hero and a Herald, which I don’t feel comfortable with. And I’m having a little trouble trying to keep everything straight. There’s so much to learn about this place and it feels like there’s just not enough time to learn what I need to in order to help properly.”

They stop at a tent. Varric turns to a campfire and pokes the logs inside with a stick. He sits on a log close enough to draw heat without being too hot and motions for her to sit. She eases down beside him, staring into the flames, worrying her bottom lip between her fingers.

“You might want to consider running at the first opportunity. I’ve written enough tragedies to recognize where this is going. A hole in the sky is beyond heroes. We’re going to need a miracle for that. I’ve been watching demons and Maker-knows-what falling out of it for days now and I still can’t believe you were in there and lived,” he tells her, shaking his head in wonder.

“If only it were that easy. Cassandra says I’m not a prisoner anymore, and while I’m not in chains, I’m pretty sure she’d hunt me down and drag me back here if I tried to leave. She scares me a little, if I’m being honest.”

“The Seeker is a pious woman and rumors say you were blessed and delivered to us by Andraste herself. Of course she’d hunt you down and drag you back here. She was very protective of you while you rested though, so if there’s a bright side, it’s that at least you won’t have as many attempts on your life as you would otherwise. She scares a lot of people.”

“Yeah, that’s reassuring,” she tells him sarcastically.

He shrugs, “If you’re going to be here a while, and I estimate you will, it’ll be better to be in the know about such things. There were attempts to assassinate you while you were recuperating, in fact.”

The thought sends a chill down her spine. No one had told her that her life was in danger. She’d assumed that those who harbored ill feelings and still thought her guilty would just stew on it, not try to kill her. But if she’s being honest with herself, she’s aware of how crazy people can become when religion is involved.

“Fantastic. At least someone around here is forthcoming with such information. No one else thought it important enough to warn me.”

“They’re just trying to protect you, I’m sure.”

“I’d rather be in the know and able protect myself than be coddled and ignorant,” she tells him, scowling into the flames.

“I figured as much.”

She sighs, shoulders drooping. The excitement of the day has been wearing her down since her conversation in the war room. But exploring this unknown world seemed far too enticing to give up for rest just yet. She’d managed to walk quite a bit through the village today, though she hadn’t made it outside the gates yet. Through them she could hear shouts and grunts and smacking sounds, and knew it was soldiers training.

It occurs to her that she doesn’t remember which cabin is supposed to be hers. Or is it hers? She has no clue. Perhaps they were just keeping her there because she was injured. She scrunches up her face and turns to Varric.

“Do you know where I’m supposed to sleep? I feel like I’ve been dying to pass out for hours, but I’ve been keeping myself awake.”

“No idea. I’d find and ask Cassandra. They may require you to sleep in the Chantry.”

She groans from the effort of gathering her tired body from the log and turns to look around the area to find which way leads to the Chantry.

“Up the stairs,” Varric says, tipping his chin toward the steps beside the tent, “Sleep well, Princess.”

She makes a face and shakes her head, causing him to laugh. It’s not the worst thing she’s been called.

“I’ll allow it for now,” she tosses behind her with as much superiority as she can manage in her tired state and heads for the stairs in search of the Seeker and a bed to rest her weary bones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I know so far I've been following the storyline closely, and I apologize for that. But I'm about to venture away from it in terms of dialogue, though I do plan to use some party banter where it applies.  
> Also, I know this chapter is short compared to the last, but they can't all be monsters! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for all the breaks in this one. I'll try to refrain in the future! xD  
> Little iffy about posting this one. Thought about re-writing it, but alas... Here we are. I may still do so. We shall see.  
> Also, I know it's a little slow... Sorry about that! I'll attempt to remedy that in future chapters o.o 
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> P.S. I snuck a very short Solas perspective in there... Let me know if it disrupts the piece or if it's welcomed? I thought about waiting and doing a very short chapter that's from his perspective and adding it in there, but then I decided against it because it's still early in the story and I don't want to make it seem like he's pining for her when he's not quite there yet. But if having it in the middle like it is seems distracting, I can take it out or add it to the bottom or something. Or perhaps start a separate work that's just little snippets like that until I get to the good stuff, where he'd have more to reveal in his point of view? I'm undecided _*sigh*_
> 
> ***P.P.S. Amended Solas's perspective. Thanks, RJLadyA for that feedback! Appreciate it. Hope the rewrite is better lol***

“I meant to ask you last night if you’d like to come with us to the Hinterlands, but you distracted me with talks of assassination attempts. You really know how to fluster a woman,” Elythia jokes to Varric, dropping into a sitting position on the stone ledge hanging above his tent.

“Ah, I am a man of many talents, Princess,” he smiles, “And Cassandra beat you to the punch.”

“ _Cassandra_ asked you to join us? That’s surprising, considering her attitude toward you.”

“Many talents,” he mutters.

She takes a bite of the apple tossed at her before she’d left the Chantry and immediately spits it out. Talking about assassination attempts has her eyeing it suspiciously. What if they poisoned it? She didn’t know the person, though to be fair, she didn’t really know anyone here. When did she become so paranoid? _Oh, right_ , she thinks. It was when she was dumped into a strange world, held prisoner, and then told that several people had tried to kill her in her sleep.

“Is something the matter with your food, da’lin?” asks Solas in that infuriatingly gentle, lilting voice of his, joining them.

“Well, people are apparently trying to kill me and now I’m wondering if I should be accepting food from strangers. Best not to eat it unless I know where it comes from,” she shrugs.

“You probably should’ve thought about that before sticking it in your mouth,” Varric tells her, stuffing a brown bag with books and other loose papers.

“I’m living in the moment.”

“You’ll not be for long should you not take more precautions,” Solas says, turning away from them to examine the sunrise.

She sticks her tongue out at him and makes a face, playing into the childish manner he’d accused her of.

“I see you, _da’lin_ ,” he says, emphasizing the word as an insult, “and it does not become you.”

“I, sir, am in a delightful mood this morning and will not be put off by your grandfatherly attitude. In fact, I’d say I’m ‘ _Feeling Good_ ,’” she tells him, laughing silently at her own joke, the song playing in her mind.

She tosses the apple into the campfire by Varric’s tent and hops off the wall, happy with herself. She’d woken early in the morning, before the sun had even risen, feeling completely refreshed. Her body no longer aches and she has an energy about her, almost like when she’d first drank the health potion Cassandra had given her a mere five days ago. _More like a lifetime_ , she thinks.

Solas gazes at her from the corner of his eye as she joins him, copying his stance. She smiles, gazing out at the sunrise. It was quite beautiful in this world, lighting the horizon and mountains in a lovely coral and gold. She closes her eyes and inhales deeply, enjoying the crisp morning air.

“Are you packed and ready to go, then?” she asks Solas, peeking at him.

“I—”

“Good. You are all here. We are to head out immediately. Scouts have already left to clear the way. I would like to get there as soon as possible,” Cassandra says, passing them and descending the steps two at a time, not waiting for a reply.

“Well, this ought to be fun,” Varric mutters sarcastically from beside Elythia.

“Don’t you know ‘Fun’ is her middle name?” Elythia quips, earning a smile from him.

Solas follows the Seeker, stopping at the foot of the steps to don a small pack and his staff. Elythia watches him. His long, graceful limbs moving slowly to tie the staff to his brown bag. His dark green vest and the ends of his light green sweater flutter in the gentle breeze, revealing tight-fitted tan pants beneath, the curves of his thighs clearly visible.

“You may want to close your mouth before you start catching flies,” Varric tells her, walking ahead.

She blushes, following him. Her mouth had definitely _not_ been open. Besides, she’s neither celibate nor dead, so if she wants to stare appraisingly at a good looking – **_very_** _good looking_ , her mind amends – elven guy, then she very well will. But nothing more, she decides. Not in this world. Not with him. _Especially not with him_.

The last and only time she’d been intimate with someone it hadn’t been one of the best experiences of her life. She’d been twenty-one, having her first drink at a bar. Her intention was just to try a few drinks so she knew which to have if ever she found herself in a social setting and wanted to fit in. She had settled on a very sweet, fruity mix, but that was after six drinks.

Everything had been tilting at weird angles and her body felt slow but relaxed enough to dance. The guy had worked his way into the crowd, right to her side. They’d danced for what, at the time, felt like hours, though she was sure afterward that it had only been about half an hour. He’d sweet talked her in her drunken state.

Thankfully, he’d been a gentleman about the whole thing, feeding her fries and muffins from a café down the road from the bar before seeking intimacy. He hadn’t been a bad guy, not at all. They just hadn’t been compatible when she’d finally sobered up enough to talk him back to her apartment. He’d let her virgin hands fumble through the entire process without his help. She’s aware now that he’d been letting her lead with the option to stop at any point, and she hadn’t stopped at all.

She’d laughed nervously a lot and didn’t really know what to do with her hands. The kissing was good, though. That she wasn’t too bad at, she supposes. She hadn’t felt the rush at the end, when he’d pumped himself into her. Instead, she’d just felt empty and guilty that she’d just given a piece of herself that she couldn’t get back to someone she didn’t know. She’s aware now that it had been stupid to feel guilty, as society pressures young women to believe that losing their virginity means losing a part of them in an effort to slut-shame them.

He'd cuddled her after and said goodbye in the morning, but it hadn’t helped her hollow feeling. She’d had no one to talk to either, having no family and generally sticking to herself where friends were concerned. So she had dealt with it silently, vowing she would just be alone for the rest of her life. She had even considered at one point that perhaps she’s more into women than men, which would explain why there hadn’t been much of a reaction from her. But the more she tried to think of women in a sexual manner, the more she was sure that that wasn’t the problem.

Maybe she only gets pleasure from the outside. She’d touched herself plenty of times to release the buildup she sometimes got, especially in the last few months after joining dance classes. One of them was a mixture of learning the pole, the chair, and a bit of 'exotic' floor work. She had taken that one as a way to get her out of her comfort zone. While she had been a bit awkward in intimacy the one time she’d tried, she was actually really good at dancing sensually in an intimate setting as she’d found out while watching herself practice at home with a chair and her walled mirror. It’s too bad she hadn’t had that skill when she’d lost her virginity.

She walks slowly behind her group as they exit the gates of Haven, entering the snowy field beyond, tents and sleeping bags and campfires everywhere. She didn’t remember it being this crowded her first day here, when she and Cassandra had walked this path to the Breach. She hugs her arms to her chest as a group who notices her stops to whisper to each other and eye her.

“Herald!” yells a blonde man, black fur wrapped around his shoulders.

“Cullen,” she says as he closes the distance between them, lifting a brow at him, “You can call me Elythia.”

“Sorry, yeah. With everyone calling you Herald, I just… it slipped out.”

He smiles sheepishly at her, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. She smiles to ease his awkwardness.

“Did you need something?” she prompts gently.

He looks around, “I have a pack for you. I just have to find it…”

Cullen walks off, rounding a tent and disappearing. At least someone had thought gather her materials for their journey. She, herself, surely hadn’t. She supposes she would have just asked for whatever she needed along the way. If she’s going to stay long enough to help these people close the hole in the sky, it’s probably best she remember the small things like this.

“Here!” he declares, holding a black pack in the air in victory.

He walks back to her proudly, offering it to her like he’s offering the finest hors d’oeuvres in the world. She smiles lightly at the gesture and takes the bag, biting back a full grin as she sees a slow blush working from his neck into his cheeks. _At least I’m not the only one blushing these days_ , she thinks.

“Thank you, Cullen,” she tells him, speaking louder as she catches Solas from the corner of her eye watching the exchange, “At least some people around here are nice.”

“Someone hasn’t been kind to you?” he asks, concerned.

“Nothing I can’t handle. Really, though, thank you. I hadn’t even thought to pack anything.”

“It was Leliana, actually. She suggested I gather anything I thought you might have need of during travel,” he admits.

“Well, then, I suppose thank her too for me,” she tells him.

“Are you two going to chat all day or can we move out?” Cassandra asks grumpily, arms crossed and waiting.

“I’ve concluded you don’t have vehicles here, but are we supposed to walk the whole way? No horses or other animals to carry us there?”

“We have very few in the way of transport animals. Once we get to the Hinterlands, we may seek the farms to inquire after horses. Until then, we travel by foot,” Cassandra informs her.

“There will be plenty to think of to keep your mind off the journey,” says a hushed voice behind her.

She jumps from the unexpected closeness and turns. An elven woman stands behind her, hair tucked into a hood and face covered mostly by some kind of cloth under it. She’s dressed warmly in the same style sweater Cassandra had made her wear that first day, with a tight-fitted vest piece over top of it. She must be Leliana’s agent.

“You may address me as Pedagogue.”

 _Well_ , in the words of Varric, _this is ought to be fun_.

.x.

She had been wrong. It hadn’t been fun in the slightest. The woman puts the word _stern_ to shame. She hadn’t put up with any of Elythia’s jokes or Varric’s when he’d butted in with his own at the things the woman was trying to teach her. She wasn’t having any of it. At one point, distracted by Varric’s and Solas’s conversation, the woman had whipped her arm out and clotheslined her to teach her a lesson. When that didn’t work, she’d made the pair fall behind them.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to learn any of this stuff. It’s just that she didn’t feel it absolutely necessary to learn everything. She just needed the basics about the mage and Templars and what needs to be said to get this Mother Giselle to help the inquisition. She didn’t need a lesson on the entire history of Thedas, but the woman was insistent.

“You’re aware I’m not from this dimension and plan to return to my own once this Breach is closed, right?” she’d asked the woman, interrupting her in the middle of the ‘third Blight,’ whatever that was.

“If you can find a way to leave this world, yes. But if you do not, it would be helpful to learn all that you can in order to survive this place, child.”

Surprisingly when this woman had used the term child she hadn’t felt near as agitated as when Solas uses it. Perhaps because the woman is clearly older, maybe sixties. It surprised Elythia at first how quietly and easily she moved for someone of her age.

Thankfully, after eight days of traveling by foot, the droning woman had given her a break when they’d crested a hill and came upon a small camp overlooking a valley and she'd slipped into the forest as though she'd never been with them in the first place.

A young dwarven woman skips over to them, saluting. Her bright green eyes dance in excitement.

“Inquisition Scout Harding, at your service, Herald of Andraste! Everyone has heard the stories of what you did at the Breach. It’s an honor to meet you, my lady,” she gushes.

“What is the situation out here?” Cassandra intervenes.

“It’s pretty dire. The mage-templar fighting is getting worse and our last reports say the fighting has spread into the Crossroads, where Mother Giselle is helping the refugees and tending the wounded. Corporal Vale and our men are doing what they can to help protect the people, but they won’t hold out very long without backup. Also, there’s an old horsemaster here, Dennet, said to have to the strongest and fastest herd this side of the Frostbacks, but we aren’t able to reach him currently with all the fighting going on. Maker knows if he’s even still alive.”

“Thank you, Scout Harding, you may resume your duties,” Cassandra tells her.

She hesitates a moment, looking at Solas and back to Cassandra, then adds before sneaking off into the trees, “Everyone’s a little nervous around mages right now. Be careful.”

“I am capable of handling myself,” Solas comments to no one in particular as the woman has already walked away.

Elythia smiles, remembering the fighting he’d done on the way to the Breach. That confident way about him when throwing balls of fire and calling on walls of ice and keeping his barrier firmly over the both of them. He quirks a brow at her unwarranted smiling, and she blushes, realizing she’s once again staring at him. Goofily, she might add.

“Just thinking,” she tells him and turns to Cassandra, “Shall we?”

“We must get you suited in armor first,” she replies, turning to rifle through a trunk by one of the tents.

“Can we get armor that fits me better this time? I’m not overly fond of being punctured by large pieces of metal.”

She ignores Elythia and tosses her vambraces and some bits of metal that look like they’re meant for her calves. She sets to work on strapping the metal to her body and wonders about her daggers. In the relative safety of Haven, she’d forgotten about them altogether.

“My daggers—”

“Are in Solas’s pack, as he was thoughtful enough to gather them at the Temple before we carried you back to Haven,” Cassandra tosses over her shoulder, still digging for a small breastplate.

“Thanks,” she mutters as he removes them from his pack and hands them to her.

She studies the one with the curved blade, noticing the handle is different. Before, it had been a chipped black thing crisscrossed with thin leather ties. Now, it has a polished handle made of white wood and an elegant blue flame with hints of green throughout, the exact color of her eyes she realizes, painted to look like it’s climbing toward the blade.

Blushing, she wonders briefly if he has painted it himself. _Doesn’t matter_ , she sighs inwardly. She’s decided that getting involved with anyone from this world isn’t an option. When this is over, she plans to return home and getting involved with someone would either compromise that or at the very least complicate it.

“I spy with my little eye…” Varric begins, looking over the wooden fence separating the cliff from the valley below.

“No,” Cassandra says immediately, finally tossing a breastplate at Elythia.

“Oh, come now, Seeker. I’m just trying to be friendly.”

“Try to be quiet instead.”

“Quiet? When you brought me along to talk? Perish the thought!” he fakes gasps before turning serious, “I just assumed you’d want to know there’s a group of Templars climbing the path below us.”

“Why did you not lead with that?” the Seeker snaps, drawing her sword and gazing over the wooden rail.

The others have already equipped their armor, being used to putting it on themselves in this world. Elythia, on the other hand, is struggling to keep the breastplate in place to secure it to her. Cassandra and Varric move along the path and Varric withdraws Bianca, readying for the fight to come.

“Allow me,” Solas mutters from behind her, his long fingers making short work of the buckles at her shoulders.

She smiles gratefully and continues to fight with the left clasp. The clunking of metal can be heard now, the helmets of one of the templars coming into view just beyond the trees to her left.

“I’ve never killed anyone before. The demons were one thing, but people are a different story. I don’t know if I can,” she confesses nervously to Solas.

He’s quiet in his contemplation, no comfort to be had from him. He swats her fumbling fingers away from the left side clasp and secures it, tightening the strap as much as her small frame will allow.

“We will try to protect you from attacks, but you should be aware that hesitation often leads to death in this dimension.”

“I don’t want to be a murderer,” she whispers, her heart beat pounding in her ears.

“Then try to talk with them first and make them see reason. Should you fail and they attack, it is within reason that you would defend yourself, thus you would not be murdering anyone,” he rationalizes.

Elythia takes a deep breath and nods. She has no idea what she would say to these people to make them refrain from attacking. Please don’t kill me? We come in peace? She doubts that’ll work.

“Hold! We are not apostates,” Cassandra declares as the men notice them and draw their swords.

But it’s too late. The man in front has already charged at the Seeker. She whips her sword through the air and moves with precision to block his incoming attacks. One of the men drop, an arrow lodged in his neck between his helmet and his chest piece. Varric stands off to the side, atop a rock overlooking the path below where they had ascended from.

Solas moves silently around the trees and joins Varric on his rock for a better vantage point. Elythia wipes at the sweat gathering on her brow and tries to stay back, out of the way. _Coward_ , she tells herself as she lets the Seeker continue the battle on the ground by herself. Solas and Varric hold off the men in the back, attacking with arrows and fire and ice.

“Aposta—” someone yells, their scream turning to a gurgle an arrow connects.

One of the templars at the front brakes off to flank Cassandra and Elythia screams for her to watch out, but she’s too late. The man’s sword connects with her metal breastplate and the sound rings loudly through the air. She falters, losing her balance as another blade cuts in from the side. Solas sets a barrier over the woman just in time to block the sword from connecting with the soft flesh below her ribs.

The man who’d flanked her raises his sword for another strike and Elythia finally makes herself act. She runs, daggers in palm, and aims for the patch of cloth on his side. Her dagger connects and he screams, turning to smack her in her temple with the hilt of his blade. Stunned, she stumbles back a few steps. _Should have trained first_ , she thinks hazily.

Solas’s barrier settles over her skin, that same soft hum from before. She doesn’t know when, but at some point she’d started crying. She isn’t a murderer! She does not want to become the thing of her parents’ demise. This isn’t right. She shouldn’t be trying to plunge daggers into some stranger.

“If you think crying will save you, you’ve another thing comin’,” the man growls at her as she wipes her nose on her sleeve and readies herself for the killing blow.

But she doesn’t have to, as a blade pierces his neck from the back and stops just short of her face. His body slides off it, pushed from behind by Cassandra.

“I need a minute,” she whispers to the Seeker and turns to wipe at her salt-stained cheeks, smearing blood that had dripped from her blade under her right eye.

“When I agreed to help, I didn’t think that meant fighting _people_ , Seeker. I just thought I’d run around closing rifts and talking to people and helping with the Breach. No one said anything about fighting actual people. No one said I’d have to become a _murderer_ ,” she tells Cassandra, choking on the last word.

“Defending yourself and those around you does not a murderer make you, Herald.”

She shakes her head, not wanting to hear the excuses the woman would ply her with in an effort to comfort her. She’d just stabbed a man. It had been as easy as taking a breath, the dagger sharp enough to pierce his skin like butter.

Deep down she knows she’s being unreasonable, but at some point in the last day or so she’d accepted that this wasn’t some elaborate dream. She isn’t going to wake up and magically be back home. Her actions have consequences. And she’d just _stabbed a man_. But then the three of them had killed the entire group…

She turns and looks at them, taking in each of them. Solas and Varric talk quietly on the rock, surveying the path. Occasionally they glance at the two women standing silently staring at each other – one with sympathy, the other with grim acceptance of her reality. Elythia nods to the Seeker, eyes dry and heart heavy.

“I won’t kill them if I don’t have to. I’d prefer to knock them out or not join the fray at all, unless it’s to protect one of you,” she tells the Seeker, clutching her daggers and heading down the path the templars had just come from.

.x.

At some point she realized she had no idea where she was going, but since neither of the three had stopped her, she assumed she was going the right way. She’d kept to the long, winding path leading down, hugging the rocks. Her luck had held until the path flattened out into an open area sprawling with cabins and fields and fighting in between.

She stops and watches the fighting. Pillars of white splay out to hit the robed bodies of mages, fire and ice and electricity zip through the air to smack into the armored bodies of the templars. In between it all, soldiers in green – Inquisition forces – fight and are felled to both sides. It is definitely a sight to see, especially for someone who hadn’t believed in magic previously.

Cassandra, Solas, and Varric wastes no time in joining the fight. Elythia sticks close to Solas, who stands back a ways to whip his staff through the air and call forth his magic to rain down upon both the templars and the mages. She keeps watch on the three, making sure they aren’t being flanked, ready but not willing to strike.

Solas sends his barrier over Cassandra as she edges closer to the fighting with her sword and shield drawn. Elythia watches, captivated, as the woman smacks her shield with her sword and everything in the immediate area whooshes away from her on a gust of wind. A thrumming sound permeates the air and the magic of the mages dies in the space around the Seeker. The woman rushes, sword slicing through the air.

Mages turn, seeking an escape as Cassandra bears down on them. The templars use the distraction to advance on both the Seeker and the mages. Varric takes out as many of the templars as he can, but a lot of his arrows glance off their armor. Solas, hands outstretched, calls a wall of fire between the templars and Cassandra, effectively cutting them off from the woman.

Elythia, in her distraction, misses the woman approaching from their left until she sees an explosion of ice, little wisps flying right for Solas. She pushes him out of the way, two of the wisps making contact with her vambrace. The metal piece hisses and begins to freeze. She fights frantically to unclasp the piece from her forearm and drop it.

A small, icy tendril snakes her wrist just as she releases the metal piece to the ground. She lifts her dagger, ignoring the ice trying to burrow its way into her skin, but Solas is already making quick work of the woman. Her scream fills the air as she falls to her knees, erupting into flames from the inside out.

Elythia shivers at the sight, hollowly aware that the man responsible is now tenderly inspecting her right wrist. He rubs gentle circles over the blue crack that had started to form from where the ice had touched her skin. A warm sensation fills her wrist, accompanied by a sweet, cool breeze in her veins. She refuses to let herself relax at the feeling, instead gazing ahead to watch the continued fight.

The Inquisition’s forces have fought back most of the templars and the mages are no longer to be seen. Cassandra has disappeared as well and she wonders briefly if the fierce woman has chased the people in retreat.

“What amuses you so?” Solas asks hesitantly from beside her, wrist still in his hands.

She realizes she’s smiling at the previous thought.

She shakes her head, a soft giggle erupting from her lips, “The thought of Cassandra chasing retreating figures while pumping her sword dramatically in the air as a threat.”

She turns, covering her mouth, laughing harder. Tears spring to her eyes and her laughter turns into hysterical wheezing. _Crazy_ , her mind shouts. Everyone’s going to think her nuts if she keeps this up. But the more she tries to stop, the harder she laughs.

Her wheezing eventually gives way to sobs as she looks at the scene before her: bodies littering the ground, scorch marks marring the ground in places where spells had been directed, wagons with supplies burning like bright pyres. She’s too soft for this life.

Solas says nothing beside her, no longer silently comforting her with his magic. He just watches her, yet again, as she cries the energy from her body and continues to stare at the chaos and death and destruction that is now her life.

~~~

_**Her copper hair billows in the breeze. The merrily dancing, silken curls conflicting with the emotions shadowing her face. Still as stone, she surveys the area. Her large, red-rimmed eyes cause her blue-green irises to burn brighter. Pained tears fall to roll gently down her blood-stained but smooth, rosy cheeks and gather in the corners of her soft, full lips. A hand twitches, fingers unintentionally extending toward her before being clenched tightly. He regards her curiously as she weeps for the destruction of a people not her own, until an unwelcome voice interrupts.** _

****

~~~

“The Inquisition's forces have driven the templars back and the mages have fled the area in retreat. We have a moment of peace and Mother Giselle is waiting,” Cassandra tells her.

Elythia nods numbly and follows as the woman turns and marches away. Solas clears his throat behind her and she turns. He offers her a wet cloth and she frowns at him.

“You’ve blood smeared on your cheek,” he explains, the rag still held out to her.

She sniffles and takes it, thanking him and scrubbing her cheek as hard as possible. It had been itchy for a while now, but she’d put it off as her tears tickling her cheeks. Knowing it’s someone else’s blood makes her want to gag, but she forces herself to take deep breaths and keep her meager lunch of bread and cheese down.

Turning back to the road, she catches a glimpse of Cassandra ascending a set of steps to a cabin and follows once more. Solas trails behind her and Varric is nowhere to be seen.

The cabin houses several men and women, all wounded. A man with a staff stands off to the side, behind a kneeling woman in the red and white cloths she now knows represents the Chantry. The wounded man she speaks with whimpers, begging not to let the mage touch him. She assures him that the man is only there to help, to ease his suffering.

She stands and allows the mage to kneel and gingerly prod the man. The woman turns, her tanned face lined with exhaustion and age. She offers Elythia a small smile.

“You must be the one they’re calling the Herald of Andraste,” she says in that same thick French - _Orlesian_ , she corrects herself – accent she’s heard others use.

Elythia says nothing, waiting for the woman to continue. She smiles wider at her and obliges.

“Come,” Mother Giselle tells her, taking off down the steps to walk the dirt path she’d just come from, “I know of the Chantry’s denouncement, and I am familiar with those behind it. Some are grandstanding, hoping to increase their chances of becoming the next Divine. Others are simply terrified. There have been so many good people senselessly taken from us…”

They stop at a wagon displaying plants and furs and Mother Giselle picks a few of the plants from the pile and hands the man some coins. She turns back to Elythia.

“Fear makes us desperate, but hopefully not beyond reason. They are not aware that they only make things worse. Go to them, convince the remaining Clerics that you are no demon to be feared. They have only heard frightening tales of you. Give them something else to believe. “

“You want me to waltz up to a bunch of people who are currently calling for my head, because they believe me guilty of something I had no control over, and assure them that I’m not a monster?” she asks incredulously.

“You are no longer alone,” she motions toward Cassandra, Solas, and Varric, who has only just shown back up, “They cannot imprison or attack you. Besides, you needn’t convince them all. You need only to make some of them _doubt_. Their power is their unified voice. Take that from them and you will receive the time you need to gather the necessary forces to close the Breach.”

Elythia stretches her arms across her torso and hugs herself. She doesn’t feel comfortable at all about the idea of trying to persuade people who want her dead that she isn’t the problem. Cassandra and Leliana had tried to make Chancellor Roderick see that she wasn’t the bad guy in all this, but he’d still gone out and spread his hate toward her, fueling the fire as it were.

Mother Giselle interrupts her thoughts, “I honestly don’t know if you are touched by fate or sent to help us. But I hope, and hope is what we need right now. You could build the Inquisition into a force that will either deliver us or destroy us. The people will answer your rallying call… I will go to Haven and supply Sister Leliana with the names of those who would be amenable to a gathering. It is not much, but I will do what I can.”

Elythia murmurs her thanks as the woman walks away, handing the plants off to the mage who had stood behind her waiting to tend the wounded man. Cassandra comes down the stairs and joins her, Solas and Varric following.

“Well?” the Seeker prompts.

Elythia recaps her conversation with the older woman as she walks around the village. Cassandra listens to her words intently and then excuses herself to find Corporal Vale. Varric breaks off as well to wander around the village, leaving her alone with Solas.

“And to think, this day started off so well,” she mutters, more to herself than to Solas, who answers anyway.

“It may yet end well. The fighting has been suppressed in the surrounding area.”

“For now. How long until it begins again? How long before more people die?”

He doesn’t answer. She inhales deeply and heads for a group hanging around a campfire.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asks the war-ravaged people.

One mentions food. Another says blankets for the refugees. Others ask for potions or the plants to make them. She takes a mental note, reminding herself to talk to Cassandra about helping these people out with the small things they’ve asked for.

Solas stops by the wounded to offer help and she hovers, watching him work. His long fingers expertly poke and prod lacerations and set broken bones back in place. His concentration never wavers.

Feeling useless, as she has no medical training, she takes a seat against the cabin beside the wounded and rests. Although she feels fine physically, the day has slowly worn her down emotionally. She feels drained. She doesn’t remember closing her eyes, but at some point she must have, as she wakes in the Fade, Wisdom waiting patiently on her rock.

.x.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Elythia jokes, smiling at the woman.

She returns the smile, “It has been some time. I did not think you to return here.”

“Do I have a choice? So far it just seems to happen randomly.”

“There is always a choice. You may walk the Fade whenever it pleases you, Dreamer, though to do so willingly without sleep takes time and skill.”

Silence ensues as Elythia thinks about that. To enter this place while still awake… Like meditation? She assumes that’s what it would be like.

“What happened? If you don’t mind my asking,” Wisdom says gently.

“What do you mean?”

“This forest is one of comfort for you,” she explains.

She tilts her head, thinking. Of course she would come here if this place is supposed to be one of comfort. After the day she’d had, she needs all the comfort in the world. She hadn’t noticed until now that she actually did feel at peace here, much more so than in the waking world, where the war wages on.

“I was forced to stab a man to protect someone. I hadn’t thought about what I would have to do in order to help the people in Thedas. I have a feeling he won’t be the last man I stab and I’m afraid of becoming a monster – numb to killing, taking lives because someone else deems it necessary,” she confesses to the elven woman.

“Hm. I do not think it something to stress over. Those who would become ‘numb’ at such a thing would not worry so as you are. I think you do yourself a disservice by believing yourself capable of such a thing.”

“Perhaps,” she shrugs and takes a seat beside Wisdom on the rock.

She hangs her feet over the edge and dips her toes in the water, immediately withdrawing them as the frigid temperature assaults her. She’d forgotten the blasted thing was cold enough to feel from up here.

“It will warm if you will it so. You need only to think of something for it to happen here.”

Elythia looks back at the offensive water and imagines it heating, like a pool after hours in the sweltering sun. She dips a toe in hesitantly, a smile tugging her lips as she submerges her feet into the now warm water and kicks them back and forth.

They stay this way for hours: Elythia reclining on her back, kicking the water about and Wisdom sitting silently beside her, watching shadows from the leaves dance lazily about the forest.


	5. Chapter 5

**_Her sleeping form rests gently against the cottage, the trauma of the day melting away in the absence of her consciousness. He continues to treat the wounded to the best of his abilities, but his attention lies elsewhere, his gaze never lingering too far for too long away from her. He decides his interest is solely for the mark she possesses._ **

~~~

Elythia wakes in pain, her forgotten left palm sparking to life after several days of silence. Solas kneels, taking her hand in his as she cries out. He rubs it, soothing it with his cold healing magic. She sighs as the pain eases ever so slightly.

“Thanks,” she mutters to him as he releases her hand.

The sun has set long ago behind the hills of the Hinterlands and she wonders what time it is and how long exactly she’d been sleeping for. She shakes her left hand out and clenches her fingers.

“I believe a rift has opened, close enough that your mark has reacted to it,” he tells her, his tired form illuminated only by her green glowing hand.

She nods, “Makes sense. It’s been quiet and dull for days.”

“Come, walk with me,” he says, extending his hand as she shifts and stands.

Taking it, he pulls her up without much effort on her part and she takes note of the silent strength of him. _No_ , she reprimands immediately. He places a hand on the small of her back and leads her down the steps, turning to the right and walking down the path lined with cabins.

Her hand dulls again and the pain lessens every few steps.

“It’s acting like a beacon,” she says in surprise.

“Yes. I speculated it would after the way it had reacted to the Breach. It seems I am correct.”

She lifts a brow at his conceited tone, slightly amused. His smile is a proud one, lifting his usually serious expression to something light, beautiful even. Her heart flutters and she shakes her head mentally, willing it to stop its foolishness, and turns in the opposite direction as a slow heat creeps up her neck.

 _Death by blush_ , she rolls her eyes at herself. It will be her end one of these days, especially with him around. She’s never blushed so much in her life. It worries her slightly that this man can already cause such a reaction from her when she barely knows him.

The light in her palm grows a little brighter with every step she takes back in the direction they came from and the pain becomes a steady ache. Testing her mark further, she takes a few steps to the left, toward the hill they’d descended earlier in the day. The glow and the pain lessen in that direction, so she turns and heads up the path to the tunnel dug through the hill. It sparks and throbs.

“Do you think we can take them on our own? Or should we find the others?” she asks Solas, who has silently trailed her.

“The Seeker has not been seen since departing in search of the Corporal, and Varric is indisposed,” he informs her, elaborating when she stares questioningly at him, “He has had drinks with some of the refugees in celebration of today’s minor victory and is passed out on a table.”

So just them then. _Fantastic_.

She slides her daggers out of the vambrace still attached to her left arm, careful not to slice herself in the process. Solas draws his staff, a wooden piece with a sharp sickle on the end, and a small tendril of light appears above them to illuminate the burrowed passage. Soldiers, scouts, and some villagers lie about, the exhaustion of the day still visible in their sleeping forms. They trek as quietly as possible through the tunnel, whispering their intentions to the guards who snap to attention with a muttered ‘Herald’ as they salute.

They follow the sputtering of Elythia’s hand as they exit, starting first in one direction and turning instead to head to the right. Bodies litter the ground, broken and bloodied and sightless. Her jaw clenches in anger, but she’s not entirely sure what it’s directed at. These people? She doesn’t know them. This world? Why would that anger her? War? It’s everywhere, all the time. Life? Yeah, that’s a good one to be angry at in general.

A scream echoes in the far distance and she freezes, an icy tendril of fear lodging itself in her heart. That scream is one she’s only ever heard once, a scream she wouldn’t – _couldn’t_ – ever forget. It was her mother’s voice, screaming loudly in horror as she’d almost been run over when she was nine. The terrible wailing of a mother thought to lose her child.

“A terror demon. Whatever you are hearing in this moment, it isn’t real,” Solas explains, but it doesn’t stop her heart from clenching and the cold sweat from breaking across her face and back.

A calming, cool breeze enters her body and her tensed muscles relax the tiniest bit. She takes deep breaths to get herself under control and whispers a thanks to Solas. So wrapped up in her own fear, she hadn’t even felt his warm fingers grazing her shoulder blade until now.

She sucks in one last, big breath and starts walking again. They head in the direction of the shrieking creature, this terror demon as Solas has identified it.

They eventually lose the path they’d been on, heading into the trees. Here and there remnants of what she assumes is mage magic litter the ground. Bursts of ice protrude grotesquely like spires from the earth and in between scorch marks mar the soil and the trees, some of the fires still ablaze.

The air hangs heavy, an almost tangible thing and she feels like she’s going to choke on it. Ahead, wisps of magic skirt through the trees. Someone yells a command and another scream cuts off, ending in a loud gurgle.

“Be on your guard,” Solas tells her as they edge closer, grabbing her arm to turn her to look him in the eye, “And should they attack, do not hesitate.”

The authority in his voice has her nodding her head. She doesn’t know if she’ll actually be able to go through with it, but if it came down to her life or theirs… Well, she could try.

As they sneak through the trees, closer to their target, it finally comes into view: a spindly green thing with lengthy limbs and long talons. Its mouth hangs open, rows of sharp teeth clearly on display. Across from it a young man hurls fire at the creature, but it moves, its thin body able to easily dodge his attacks. A woman kneels behind him, her hands working frantically over a still body.

“Ava, I need your help. Leave him,” the man growls as the demon slinks closer.

A few feet behind the demon is the rift, a green sore oozing into the world and dancing in the air. Elythia moves toward it, leaving Solas behind and keeping her distance from the creature. So far, only the terror demon has escaped, and she’s thankful since Varric and Cassandra were unable to join.

She aims her palm at the rift and begins sealing it. The demon whirls, turning in her direction, another scream tearing from its throat. She ignores the stinging in her chest and continues on the rift.

Solas’s barrier slides easily around her as the creature rips the ground beneath it open and disappears. She watches in shock and then looks around, wondering where it went. Just as she feels the tug in the rift and pulls it closed, the demon pops up beside her.

The ground shakes and trembles beneath her, knocking her onto her back as the thing emerges and shrieks at her using her mother’s voice. A claw rips through the air in front of her, connecting with Solas’s barrier. She scrambles to her feet quickly, blades at the ready.

Someone sends a ball of fire in their direction, barely missing her. As the demon reaches out to swipe at her again, she slices her blade through the air and connects. Her dagger lodges into its skin, dragging open a small cut.

Ice hits the monster, spreading to its shoulders and down its arms, effectively keeping it from being able to raise them in another attack. She takes the chance to aim for its head, having no idea where its heart is as its chest is so small she’s not sure it would be there. She has to jump to reach, but her blade makes contact and slides easily into the area beside its eye.

It dies on another shriek, this one less resembling her mother and likely more what the creature actually sounds like. Same as the rest, it mists away into the ground. A ball of fire hits the ground beside her in an explosion of sparks and she darts away from the flames.

“We are not here to cause you harm,” Solas’s voice rings out cold, clear, and angry.

“Drop your weapons!” the man yells close by.

Elythia, blind in the now dark except what meager light her hand is throwing off and the tiniest of flames beside her, squints into the dark to see where everyone is. A shape moves to stand in front of her and she barely makes out the back of Solas’s head. The tip of his staff, standing firmly in his hand, begins to glow a soft green with strands of black weaving throughout.

“I will not, and neither will she. Should you attack, I will be forced to defend, and you will not succeed,” he tells the man matter-of-factly.

“Please, Luca, they may be able to help,” cries a female voice.

A light appears, casting a soft blue over them all. The man has his staff pointed at them, the woman has knelt by the other body again, and Solas stands between her and the others. She tucks her daggers into her left vambrace and steps beside Solas, laying her hand softly on the back of his arm.

“We _will_ help if we can. My friend meant what he said about us not being here to harm you. I came to close the rift,” she tells the man, Luca, gently while holding her glowing left hand up for him to see.

“So, you’re the woman who tried to close the Breach. The one they’re calling the Herald of Andraste.”

“Yes.”

He lowers his staff hesitantly.

“Okay, then, help if you can,” he says, turning from them and squatting beside the woman.

“Thank you,” she whispers to Solas, sliding her hand down his arm and squeezing his fingers lightly before walking over to join the man and woman.

“He’s breathing, but barely. I’ve done all I can to heal him. It isn’t my specialty, but I tried,” the woman weeps.

Solas bends beside her and inspects the man, pulling his robe to the side to see the swollen, red wound oozing red and black from his abdomen. Elythia looks away from the sight, memories attempting to break through her box. She shoves them back and looks around them instead, taking in what surroundings she can in the darkness.

The woman whispers her thanks as Solas begins healing the wounded man. All three of the strangers wear the robes she’d so far only seen mages wear. She wonders if they’re with the mages who were fighting at the Crossroads earlier.

“We have no way to repay you, both for helping with the rift and with Alwin,” the man says, looking back and forth between them.

“It is late and these woods are dangerous. Why were you out here to begin with?” Solas inquires, ignoring the man’s admission.

He hesitates and shares a look with the woman. She nods at him.

“We were traveling to Redcliffe to join the rebellion, but we’d ended up getting caught up with the apostates here. We’re mages so they just assumed we’d help them, but we managed to avoid most of the fighting. We’ve been stuck with them for days now, waiting for the perfect time to sneak away.”

“Tonight was our best chance since most of them were grabbing what they could to move to a cave up north to better defend themselves against the templars and the Inquisition. But as we were walking, the rift ripped open and two terror demons strolled right out,” the woman tells them.

“One caught Alwin in the chest before we were able to kill it,” the man says, looking at the other man in irritation, “This idiot thought it would be a good idea to step in front of me just as the damned thing struck out.”

“Someone had to save your arse,” the other man whispers weakly, his eyes still shut.

The woman sighs happily and laughs lightly at his words, gazing lovingly at him.

“If the Inquisition offers you safety in traveling to Redcliffe, do you think you could get the leader of the mage rebellion to speak with us?” Elythia asks, following Solas’s line of thought upon hearing their answers.

“We don’t actually know the Grand Enchanter. We just heard they were headed to Redcliffe. I doubt they’d listen to a bunch of nobodies,” the woman admits.

“How interested would you be in helping close the Breach before joining your fellow mages at Redcliffe?”

“I understand we owe you for a life since your man just saved Alwin’s, ‘Herald,’ but I don’t know,” the man replies.

She blushes at his words, calling Solas her man, and she wants to tell him otherwise. But now is not the time. She ignores it.

“We just need your magic to fuel the mark. The first attempt to seal it left me drained and didn’t work. It just steadied it,” she explains.

The two look at each other and the woman looks guiltily at the third man, still laying on the ground but breathing much deeper than he had been. The wound on his torso no longer oozes thanks to Solas, but is still an ugly red mess.

“Fuck’s sake, you two,” the wounded man croaks, finally opening his eyes to look at his buddies before turning to Elythia with a smile, “Of course we’ll help. It’s the least we could do.”

His light brown eyes meet hers and she answers his smile with her own. He attempts to sit, straining and groaning and coughing until his buddy puts a hand behind him and helps.

“Are you sure?” the woman asks quietly as they pull him slowly and gingerly to his feet.

He nods and extends his hand first to Solas and then to Elythia, “Alwin, and thank you for saving my life and helping them.”

Introductions are made between them all. She learns the shorter man with the blue eyes and reddish brown hair is Luca, best friend to the other two who are siblings. Alwin, the tall, no longer wounded man has kind, light brown eyes to match his curly brown hair and an easy smile. Avalene, his sister, is his spitting image in female form. She tells them she prefers to be called Ava.

Luca and Ava support Alwin as they follow slowly behind Elythia and Solas, headed back toward the village at the Crossroads. They amble silently through the woods for the majority of their journey back.

“They may not be welcomed at the village,” Solas suggests quietly as they enter onto the path they’d left earlier.

She shrugs, “They won’t be staying at there. I plan to walk them to the camp up the hill. Hopefully, we can have some of the scouts escort them to Haven.”

Elythia looks at him as he falls silent in thought. She’s about to ask his opinion on the matter since he hadn’t freely offered it when he meets her gaze and opens his mouth.

“You expressed gratitude back there. Might I ask why?”

Her mouth twitches with the beginnings of a smile, “You hesitated.”

“I did no such thing,” he frowns at her.

“You told me not to hesitate if they attack and most people would consider a ball of fire thrown at them as an attack. But you didn’t retaliate.”

“Because I can tell the difference between a bloodthirsty apostate and a scared child with no idea what he’s doing.”

“Okay,” she accepts, smiling.

His frown deepens as he continues gazing at her, which makes her smile widen. She bites back a laugh at his expression and turns to path they now follow. The passage to the village comes into view and she speeds ahead a little to inform the guards of their visitors, amusement still dancing in her eyes.

They look warily behind Elythia but don’t argue as the three mages come into view. She waits patiently for the four of them before they all make their way through the village and into the camp overlooking the valley.

.x.

“I knew I shouldn’t have stuck around up here,” Elythia jokes to Pedagogue, who’d mysteriously appears from the trees to assault her with more knowledge.

Her serious, wrinkled face doesn’t change in the slightest and Elythia wonders if the woman even understands what humor is. She vows to get her to laugh one day, before they open a portal to send her home.

Elythia turns back to her note, asking Cullen to take care of the three mages she’d recruited after saving them from a demon and a rift. Before they’d left they had detailed to one of Leliana’s scouts where the cave the apostates are going to hole up in can be found. She knows the information will be used for a stealthy attack and hopes that she won’t be included.

She rolls the note up as instructed by the woman with their messenger ravens and hands it over. The woman ties a string around it and attaches it to one of the claws, sending the bird on its way. Elythia watches it fly off before turning to find Solas.

He leans against the wooden posts sitting at the cliff’s edge, shoulders slightly hunched. His knuckles are white where he grips the staff tightly and exhaustion lines his features. She hadn’t thought about how much healing would take out of him.

“When was the last time you slept?” she questions, joining him against the fence.

He shakes his head and smiles lightly, “Too long ago.”

“Take a tent and rest. It won’t do anyone any good if you’re too tired to help.”

He sighs heavily and nods, leaving her alone on the posts. She wonders what Cassandra will say about sending the mages off to Haven. The point of coming out here had been to gain enough influence to recruit mages or templars. Her plan is to hopefully do both. If they need all the power they can get, she will definitely try to work both ends to their benefit.

“They will accept the help. If not, Leliana will see to it their minds change,” Pedagogue assures her as though the woman had read her mind.

“I hope so.”

“You should rest as well. I have been notified that I am to continue your education, as an educator could not be acquired for you. We resume on the morrow.”

Elythia stops herself from groaning out loud. She’d never been so against learning, but Pedagogue’s droning voice makes her want to do everything but learn. She isn’t even tired, having slept what felt like all day. But she leaves the elderly woman by the fence and heads for the tent she’d tossed her pack in earlier, lest she suggest they begin now.

She lies back and tries to empty her mind to attempt entering the Fade without actually sleeping. No one had shared with her how it works, just that it could be done. She pictures her forest, the river, the rock, Wisdom…

And nothing happens.

She huffs in frustration and tries again. Her mind conjures the place to the forefront, recalling every detail she can. She feels a tug and tries to follow it, but it leads nowhere.

Should she hum like people do when they meditate? Does that even work? Does she have to lie down or can she sit up? So many questions with no one to answer them currently.

 _Solas could_ , her mind whispers. She rolls her eyes at herself. Yeah, he could answer them. If he weren’t sleeping. He seems to know plenty about the Fade. But talking with him causes her to blush too much at the slightest thing. She imagines trying to have an actual, long conversation with him, her face burning the entire time.

This time she does groan out loud. _Idiot_ , she scolds herself, but her mind has already roused up images of him. She sighs. Maybe waking him to ask about entering the Fade wouldn’t bother him. _Maybe he isn’t even asleep yet_ , she reasons.

She argues with herself for a few more minutes before giving up. If he isn’t asleep yet, he will be soon enough and she doesn’t know if she’ll be able to justify waking him just to ask how to enter the Fade while awake. She leaves her tent, but stops short at a surprised voice.

“Elythia?”

She turns to Solas, gazing incredulously at her before a mask of indifference settles on his face.

“You’re supposed to be asleep, but I’m glad you aren’t. I have a question about the Fade,” she tells him.

His brows furrow quickly and then relax at her statement.

“And what might that question be?”

“Well, I was wondering, how does one enter the Fade when not asleep?” 

“I believe you may already know the answer to that question.”

Confused, she frowns. He turns his back to her and looks out over the valley and village below, clasping his hands behind him. She joins him and realizes what he meant as below them wisps and spirits flit about.

“I don’t know how I got here,” she confesses.

“Neither do I. This is my dreamstate and I did not invite you in,” he informs her, awe and wonder in his voice as he views her out of the corner of his eye, a small smile tugging on his lips.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to crash your dream.”

“It is no bother as I was merely enjoying the view. Perhaps it best we teach you how to properly enter the Fade to avoid future intrusions.”

“I’d like that,” she smiles.

“Then it is settled. If you have no objections, I would begin now.”

She nods and follows him as he turns to walk toward the fire in the middle of the camp. He settles gracefully to the ground, turning his side to the fire and crossing his legs. She sits in front of him, mimicking his pose.

“I have questions of my own first,” he begins, waiting patiently for her to stop fidgeting on the hard ground.

“Shoot,” she prompts, giving up on comfort.

“Why did you think you could enter the Fade?”

Her brows knit together in confusion at his question.

Noticing her confusion, he elaborates, “You being here, cognizant, should be impossible as you are not a mage. Dreamers, we’re called, are able to traverse the Fade without aid, manipulating it.”

She looks at her left hand, empty of the glowing green light here, and back to Solas.

“Do you think the mark has anything to do with it?”

“It is possible,” he nods absently, lost in his own thoughts, a small frown pulling at his lips before continuing, “Not enough is known of the mark to confirm, but I expect that since you are no mage, it is most probable. You did not answer my question.”

She scrunches her face, “Wisdom said I could enter it freely wherever and whenever I wanted. I tried and nothing was happening, so I went to ask you about it and, well… here we are.”

“Interesting,” is his only reply as he considers her.

His intense observation of her has her blushing yet again. She looks away from his gaze, into the fire as her face burns.

“You said ‘questions,’ plural,” she points out.

“Indeed, I did, but your response to my first question has answered many others I had.”

A thought occurs to her. If she doesn’t know how she entered, how will she leave? Waking up usually kicks her out of the Fade, but she’s pretty sure she’s not asleep right now.

“How do I leave?” she asks anxiously.

“You will yourself out,” he tells her simply.

 _Well, that’s helpful_ , she thinks dryly, giving him a face that conveys just that. He quirks a brow, challenging her. She scowls at him and purses her lips, ‘willing’ herself to wake up.

She gasps in surprise as the world tilts and turns beneath her, same as when she wakes – minus the tugging sensation. Her last view in the Fade is Solas, the flames from the fire casting him in an orange glow, highlighting his sharp cheekbones, and a smug smirk plastered on his beautiful face.

She jerks into a sitting position, heart racing. She’d done it! A laugh escapes her as she lies back down to try again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies if there are a lot of mistakes in this one guys. I'm freaking tiiiiired and now I need a break. But I wanted to post this before I took a break. I'll finally get some sleep tonight and get back to it though, fixing what I can where I can and continuing to write. 
> 
> Also, I know I said I would try to speed it up, but... Well... I failed. Bahahah.
> 
> Any and all feedback is welcomed and appreciated. Thanks for reading! :D


	6. Chapter 6

Solas stands with his left arm crossed over his torso, his other resting lightly upon it, and a long finger covering his mouth. His expression tells her he’s lost in his thoughts. She uses his distraction to let her eyes roam freely over him as the setting sun rests gently on his profile, lighting his cheeks and the pale freckles splayed across them in a soft glow.

She hates to interrupt him when he’s like this, a beautiful statue adrift in his own mind, but she does so anyway.

“Will you teach me Elvish?” Elythia asks him quietly, joining him on the raised mound overlooking the fields of the farmlands.

His finger slides from his mouth to his chin as he continues to look forward and answers lightly.

“Why?”

“Well, I’m stuck here for now. And I wish to know what it is you say when you speak it to me sometimes.”

“You have but to ask and I will tell you,” he mutters, glancing at her.

“I’ve heard others whispering in the language to me and they believe me to be elven because of my ears. I’d like to know what they’re saying without having to ask them or trying to remember in order to ask you,” she reasons.

He nods slowly, “Ma nuvenin, da’avise. As you wish.”

She gives him a smile and utters her thanks, hopping off the small hill and joining the others at the camp they’ve set up just outside the farms.

“Ser, this has arrived for you, from Sister Leliana,” calls their requisitions officer, several items in her arms.

She hands Elythia a brown wrapped parcel. Eyeing it suspiciously, she drops it onto the table beside her and begins unwrapping it. Inside contains clothing items of a fine quality. Tanned pants made of some kind of hide, a white silk shirt that looks like it may be too big, a matching corset, socks, and a pair of leather boots.

“Looks like someone’s tired of you wearing the same old clothing all the time,” Varric comments as he waltzes over to peek at the items.

She frowns, “My clothes are comfortable. Besides, these are far too nice to fight demons in.”

“They are meant to be worn for meetings,” Cassandra interjects from behind them, carrying her own clothing and a small bar of lye that Elythia knows smells of lavender to the pond beside their camp.

“I’m not wearing this corset,” she tells her, holding up the offensive piece.

Cassandra waves a hand in the air, “Wear it or don’t, it matters little to me. But you will wear the rest.”

“There’s a note,” Varric says, picking up the paper that had floated to the ground and handing it to her.

It reads:

> _Herald,_
> 
> _Josephine has acquired this outfit with the express intention of you wearing it while recruiting, if possible. Which brings me to my actual purpose for writing this: one of my agents has reported a man identifying as Blackwall, dressed in full Grey Warden regalia, traveling the Hinterlands. With so many of the Wardens missing in the wake of the Divine’s death, I would have this Blackwall found and taken in by the Inquisition, if only to question him at the very least. The details have been exchanged with Cassandra. You are to ride to his last known location when ready._
> 
> _Leliana_

She sighs, knowing that she’s going to wear the danged corset. Of course, she knows she’s being ridiculous. Her clothes are slowly wearing down, the material of her shirt and underthings not meant for the harsh washing she’s had to put them through. But her pants are holding up, at least.

“Since you’re receiving gifts, I suppose I should go ahead and give you mine, as well,” Varric tells her, disappearing into his tent and returning with a small velvet pouch.

She frowns at him. He hands it to her and she opens to inspect the contents. A shimmering blue dust sits within and she lifts it to her nose to smell, wondering what it is.

“I wouldn’t,” her warns, grabbing her arm to stop her from sniffing it.

“Why not? What is it?”

“It’s a sleeping powder. Toss a pinch of that in someone’s face and they’re out like a light. I figured since you’d rather knock them out that it would be handy to have around.”

Her heart squeezes at his kindness and she hugs the pouch to her chest, careful not to waft the contents into the air.

“Thank you so much,” she whispers, grateful for the hairy dwarven man and his gift.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s not a problem, Princess. But please be careful with it. I had to wine and dine someone for that stuff and it wasn’t cheap.”

She laughs, “Is that how you ended up passed out back at the Crossroads?”

He smiles easily, “More or less.”

She shakes her head, laughing, and thanks him again. Carefully pulling the strings taut on the pouch, she closes it and manages to push it into one of the pockets attached to the belt Cassandra has given her for her daggers. It fits perfectly and she tells herself she’ll need to remember only a pinch is needed.

Elythia gathers her new items and puts them aside in her tent for now. She joins Varric at the fire. He ladles their near tasteless soup into a wooden bowl and hands it to her. She takes it gladly and sips slowly.

“So, I hear you sing,” Varric says casually.

She peeks at him over her bowl of soup, raising an eyebrow. He shrugs and tilts his bowl to empty it into his mouth.

“I do. Occasionally.”

“I enjoy a good song now and then,” he prompts with a small, sly smile.

She bites back a smile of her own and shakes her head again in amusement. Only a handful of people have ever heard her sing, though not out of shyness. She’s just never had the friends to sing for. But, she supposes, she does owe him for the powder.

“What would you like? Something upbeat, something about love, something sad? Pick your poison.”

“Sing us a tale of woe, Princess.”

In terms of woe, her mind goes straight to one of the last songs she’d heard before getting thrown into Thedas. She thinks of the music in her head and sets her bowl down to begin.

She taps out a slow rhythm on her legs and starts to sing, slightly slower than the artist. Her eyes close as she sings, her honeyed voice carrying over the camp, which has fallen quiet. She sings with a swelling emotion as the song hits its crescendos and then peters out, and she ends it on a hum with the music in her head.

“I prefer upbeat songs,” she says, opening her eyes to an unexpected group of people.

Varric cheers, triggering an eruption of applause from the seven people standing behind him, all staring at her. Cassandra is looking, as well, her chore of washing her clothing stopped momentarily. But it’s Solas, still standing on his mound of dirt, that catches her eye as he’s turned from his sunset to watch her with the rest of them.

He inclines his head. She gives him another smile, the heat creeping in, and then turns away to grab her bowl and finish eating. The crowd disperses, people going back to doing their own thing. Every now and then they glance at her.

“Music or no, you have a voice that could be enjoyed at any time. I bet the Orlesian’s would pay handsomely for it,” Varric compliments.

“I’ll keep that in mind if I’m ever in need,” she grins and rinses her bowl out in the pond, placing it on the table in a stack with the others.

“It is time,” Cassandra declares, hanging her clothes over a drying rack near the fire.

This has become their routine every night: eat and then practice in the last hour or so before darkness descends. She’s slowly been getting better, but there’s so much more to learn as Cassandra manages to bruise her nightly either form attacks she hadn’t expected or because she hadn’t sufficiently blocked her.

“You said you dance,” Cassandra taunts as they begin to circle each other, “But you are as stiff as a tree.”

She scowls at the woman, even as she knows she’s just trying to bait her. Cassandra jabs at her with an empty hand, as they’ve forgone weapons until Elythia can get movement and blocking down. She dodges left and kicks out, aiming to swipe the leg out from under the Seeker, but Cassandra is faster and kicks her leg away. The pain is instant as she connects with the bone.

Elythia cries out in pain but quickly recovers. She frowns at the Seeker, who has a satisfied smile and a quirked brow in challenge. They dance around each other again and Elythia strikes out first this time. She knows Cassandra will dodge backward and she’s ready, feigning right this time and bringing her leg up to kick her in the chest as the Seeker steps forward again to meet her with her own strike.

Her foot connects with Cassandra’s chest and she knocks the woman back, surprise crossing her features. Elythia gives her a smile this time and jumps back and forth on the balls of her feet, her hands held up to counter should she attempt to attack.

They continue their practice until they are both sweating and panting, the sun well set behind the hills of Redcliffe Farms and their group already tucked in for the night. Elythia enters her tent, ready to try entering the Fade again. She hadn’t been able to since crashing Solas’s ‘dream state’ as he’d called it several nights ago.

She attempts clearing her mind and willing herself to enter the Fade for so long without success that she doesn’t even realize when her breathing slows and her eyes close in exhaustion. Her sleep is dreamless for yet another night.

.x.

Elythia grimaces at Solas as they walk the path to horsemaster Dennet’s farm to acquire horses for the Inquisition.

“I still haven’t been able to enter.”

“It takes time, patience, and practice.”

“I can’t practice if I don’t understand how I’m supposed to practice, Solas,” she huffs in frustration.

“Perhaps you do not want it badly enough, Elythia,” he retorts.

She hugs herself and rubs her arms in an attempt to keep from breaking out in goosebumps at her name rolling off his tongue like a sweet caress. He hasn’t called her ‘da’lin’ in quite some days now, but she almost prefers it to her name as her body’s reaction is alarming.

Her hands snake smoothly up the white silk of her new blouse. Josephine had done well in picking out her clothing, even down to guessing the correct sizes of everything. The shirt actually hadn’t been too big, as she’d realized when she had put it on that it was meant to be tucked in. She’d only blushed a tiny bit this morning when she’d put the items on and found the corset pushing her breasts to the top of her blouse. Other than revealing slightly too much cleavage for her liking, it really is nice. The corset could be a little looser, she’d decided.

She worries her bottom lip between her fingers and says nothing to his response. She _does_ want it badly enough. Every night she tries and tries until she works herself into a dreamless sleep. Every morning she wakes frustrated at her failure.

“Horse?” she asks without context, knowing he’ll answer.

“Safal.”

Safal, the Elvish word for horse. She’s done this every so often since he’d agreed last night to teach her – just asks him about a random word in the language. He complies by telling her the word and sometimes explaining the different uses or meanings as some contain several depending on context. Just as confusing and as hard as learning a language back on Earth One, as she now refers to her dimension.

As they come upon the farm, dozens of horses graze lazily through the fields. A white mare snorts at her as they get closer and she stops to pet it, scratching its chin and kissing it on its long muzzle. It trots in place, a merry dance at her attention.

“Beautiful?”

He’s quiet for a moment and she wonders if he thought she was stating a fact about the animal.

“Ina'lan'ehn,” he says finally, quietly.

She tucks her hair behind her pointed ear and turns to meet his gaze, laying her head on the horse’s. His eyes meet her and the muscles in his jaw work back and forth, clenching. He walks away abruptly, leaving her alone. She frowns in his direction, watching him walk, puzzled at his sudden change of mood.

“He’s a weird one,” she whispers to the beautiful, snowy white creature and jogs to catch up with her group.

“Hey, you! Halla-rider!” yells a male voice from behind a group of horses near the stable.

She stops her jog and turns to the man, “Me?”

“Yes, you, girl. Why’re you here?”

He walks to the fence and cocks a leg up on the lowest post, leaning casually against it and waiting for her to answer.

“We’re with the Inquisition, here to speak to a Master Dennet to acquire horses.”

“You’ve found me,” the elderly man tells her.

She turns to see Cassandra and the others speaking with a white-haired woman near the large wooden house and shrugs mentally, turning to speak to the man.

“So, you’re the Inquisition, eh? I hear you’re trying to bring order back. It’s high time someone did. Just didn’t think it would be a halla-rider from the wildlands, though,” he says.

“Halla-rider?” she frowns, unfamiliar with the term.

“D’you know nothing, girl? An elf, like yourself. But don’t get offended, I meant nothing by it. Those halla are damned majestic beasts and I’d give my right arm to ride one.”

Used to people calling her an elf nowadays, she doesn’t bother to correct him.

“Can you supply us with mounts, then?” she asks him, ignoring his ramblings about halla, whatever those are.

“I can part with a couple. If you’re looking for more, I’m sorry but no can do at the moment. Can’t just send all those horses down the road like you’d send a letter. Bandits have been getting worse and every one of them between here and Haven would be on them like flies on crap.”

She looks back down the path they’d come from, the road completely empty and not a soul in sight. The only people they really needed to watch out for were the apostates and the templars, whose fight had been momentarily stubbed by Inquisition forces. A delicate brow raises as she turns back to the man.

“Oh, they’re there, girl. But a few people traveling with not much to their name hardly catches their attention. Throw a hundred of the finest mounts in Fereldan into the mix and I guarantee they come crawling out the woodworks.”

“And if the Inquisition builds watchtowers for the farms between here and the Crossroads?” Cassandra suggests from behind Elythia, causing her to jump as her light steps had gone unheard.

“To be manned by your men, as well? We’ve not the people to spare for them,” says a younger man, joining them from the stables to stand beside Dennet.

“Bron, my head farmhand,” Dennet introduces with a nod to the man.

“Of course they will be,” Cassandra replies.

“And I’ve no doubt my wife gave you a task, as well.”

“She did,” she confirms, “And we will see to both problems.”

“Then we shall revisit this conversation once our requests have been seen to, Seeker. But in the meantime, I will donate two mounts. As a show of good faith with the Inquisition.”

Elythia looks to the white horse with wide, hopeful eyes.

“Not that one, girl. She isn’t ready yet,” he tells her, observing her interest in the mount.

“I’ll have Seanna bring two ‘round,” Bron tells him and departs.

Elythia turns to Cassandra, “What’s the other problem?”

“Wolves. Apparently they have become more aggressive.”

“Like beasts with the water-sickness, my wife says,” Dennet interrupts.

A young woman, spitting image of Dennet, leads two brown horses out to them, handing the reins to Cassandra and Solas. Varric eyes them both in distaste and Elythia bites her lip to keep from laughing at his expression.

“They’ll bounce Bianca around. She doesn’t like to be bounced,” he mutters.

“You will ride regardless,” Cassandra scowls at him, swinging high onto the horse and offering him her hand reluctantly.

The dwarven man swings more gracefully than Elythia thought he would atop the animal. That leaves her and Solas to share a mount, she realizes too late, as he already sits on their horse waiting for her. He looks almost as displeased at the thought as she feels.

She grimaces to herself, but walks over to grasp his offered hand. Taking care not to kick either him or the horse, she pulls herself up behind Solas and settles into the saddle. Unsure of where to put her hands, she rests them gently on her thighs.

They say their thanks and goodbyes to the horsemaster with promises of building watchtowers and dealing with the wolves. As they lurch forward into a walk, the horse rocks her and she grabs onto Solas for support, her hands snaking around his waist and resting on his stomach.

She feels him tense under her hands and she loosens her hold slightly, content to know he’s just as uncomfortable as she is as they set off in search of this Warden Blackwall.

.x.

The trip takes significantly less time as they head back toward the Crossroads. Every step causes her to grind her breasts against the back of Solas, making her blush a deep scarlet consistently. She’s thankful for the corset she wears, as she’s sure he can feel every time her chest bounces into him and knows that if she were just wearing her lacey bra, he’d be able to feel her nipples rubbing into his back.

That thought makes her rolls her eyes. _When did I become a hormonal adolescent again?_ she asks herself. Though, to be fair, she hasn’t had a release in weeks and loads of stress have been put on her. Perhaps she can have a moment to herself at some point during the day.

She leans away from him to give his back some much needed space from her breasts and holds onto the back of the saddle, trying to keep herself from tipping over. The position is awkward and the respite doesn’t last long as they begin to climb a hill and the upward movement forces her to wrap her arms around his torso and hold on to keep form sliding off the saddle.

Her entire torso is now planted against his back, her nose so close she can smell him. Involuntarily, she takes a deep breath and is engulfed in his heady blend of herbs and campfire and earth and… _No_ , she tells herself, jerking her head as far away from his back as her body will allow without actually letting go.

But his scent is still there, wrapping around her like a cozy blanket.

 _Stop_. She breathes through her mouth to stop from turning into a horny teen over a simple smell, grateful to see the tops of tents poking over the cliff above them. _Almost there_.

Solas is again tense under her hands and she wonders briefly where his thoughts are. Are his thoughts similar to hers? _Perhaps we can help each other_ , her dirty mind whispers unbidden, and the intrusive thought nearly causes her to let go of him and topple off the horse.

She’s about to suggest she hop off and walk the rest of the way when the terrain levels out and she releases Solas quickly, ready to be rid of his currently arousing aroma before she explodes. She doesn’t wait for the horse to fully stop before she hops off and pulls her bag aggressively from where it’s tied to the saddle and stomps toward a tent, face flaming red, angry at herself and her thoughts and her reactions.

“What did you do to her?” she hears Varric ask as she passes them by without a word.

“ _I_ did nothing,” Solas answers, the confusion clear to hear even now from inside her tent.

She tosses her bag onto the ground, angry at herself for being so hormonal – _horny_ , her mind amends – right now. Tossing her hair into a loose bun, she exits her tent and kneels by the stream running next to them to splash herself with water. Her face cools immediately at the cold contact.

She contemplates sticking her entire head in, but settles for just her cheeks right now. Drenching herself certainly won’t help anything.

“You good, kid?” Varric asks softly from beside her.

She smiles up at his gentle tone, “Yeah, I just—I don’t even know. I’m fine. I’m just not feeling myself today, I suppose.”

 _But you could be_ , that dirty part of herself whispers and she turns her wide, mortified eyes away and splashes herself again.

“If you’re sure…” he prompts.

 _Nope_.

She shakes her head, “I’m fine. I _will_ be fine. I just need a moment.”

Elythia sits at the stream for a few more minutes, taking deep breaths and listening to the calm bubbling of the water, trying to clear her mind.

 _Got a job to do. Pull it together_.

She takes another big breath and forces herself up to dust her pants off and get on with the day.

“Ready,” she tells Cassandra, turning to the woman with the best smile she can manage.

The Seeker looks between her and Solas, who stands with his back to them as he gazes out at the hills, with interest and a question in her eyes, but Elythia doesn’t answer. She ignores the woman and grabs her weapons belt from her tent, attaching the thing to her hips with more ease than she had the first time couple times as she gets more used to it.

“Reports say he was last seen at the lake. We will have to skirt it as there is no other option, but it shouldn’t take too long. We will leave the horses,” Cassandra relays to the group, handing one of Leliana’s agents a note to send back to Haven about watchtowers.

Apart from the steep hill, the trek around the lake is nice and Elythia manages to keep her thoughts from Solas for the most part, walking ahead of him to keep from looking at him. She tries to concentrate on the small figures moving in repetition across the water from them instead, several clearly visible as they swing their swords about in practice.

“Grey Warden Blackwall?” Cassandra shouts as they near the men.

The man with the shoulder-length dark hair and long beard looks at her and opens his mouth to answer when a group of people charge from behind the house on the lakeside. Cassandra takes off running, drawing her sword and readying to fight. Elythia draws her pouch from her belt and runs too, determined to knock them out before the Seeker can land her blows.

She pushes herself harder, but Cassandra is beating her by a longshot.

“No!” she screams at everyone as they all engage in combat.

A body falls to the ground, blood already covering their torso, their eyes empty. One of the men lash out at Cassandra and she immediately cuts them down. Elythia, too late to the scene, stops moving as the last of the attackers are taken out. A pain wells in her chest as she looks to the dead bodies on the ground. Another fail for the day on her part.

She shakes her head angrily, first at the Seeker and then to the others, “I have a knockout powder. You didn’t _need_ to kill them.”

“Sorry bastards were bandits. They’ve been harassing the refugees for days. You’d just, what? Knock them out and then leave them be to resume where they left off?” the older man with the black hair, presumably Blackwall, questions just as angrily.

He turns abruptly from Elythia, not giving her a chance to reply and addresses the men he’d been practice fighting with as her group had made their way around the large lake.

“Good work conscripts, even if this shouldn’t’ve happened. Take back what they stole and go back to your families. You’ve saved yourselves.”

“Warden Blackwall, the Inquisition would like a word,” Cassandra says to him as the men pick up what they can from the fallen and head out.

Elythia looks at them all in dismay as they loot dead bodies, not caring at all for the lives they’d just taken. _So cold_ , she grimaces.

“What’s this about, Seeker?” he asks.

“You have heard of the disappearance of the Wardens?”

He looks at Cassandra in confusion but doesn’t answer.

“We’re here to investigate if their disappearance has anything to do with the murder of the Divine,” she informs him.

“Maker’s balls. The Wardens and the Divine? That can’t—no, you’re here so you don’t really know. First off, I didn’t know they’d disappeared. But we do that from time to time, yeah? No more Blight, job done, Wardens are the first thing forgotten. But I can tell you one thing for certain: no Warden killed the Divine. Our purpose isn’t political.”

“So you don’t know where the other Wardens can be found then?”

He shakes his head at Cassandra, “I haven’t seen any Wardens for months. I travel alone, recruiting. Not much interest with the Archdemon a decade dead. And not much need to conscript because there’s no Blight coming.”

He turns to Elythia this time, “Treaties give us the right to take what we need, _who_ we need,” he points to the bodies on the ground, “These idiots forced this fight, so I conscripted their victims. They had to do what I said, so I told them to stand. Next time, they won’t need me. Grey Wardens can inspire, make you better than you think you are.”

“They were outnumbered. You could have easily captured them rather than kill them,” she argues still.

“Look, I know violence isn’t the answer, but when a blade comes at you and all you have to defend yourself with is another blade—well, there are bound the be casualties.”

“This has been a real pleasure, Grey Warden Blackwall,” Elythia tells him sarcastically, “But it wasn’t helpful in the slightest.”

She turns on her heel and, much to Cassandra’s amusement, marches away from the man. Her small group turns to follow her, none of them questioning her decision to leave. Not that she cares, as she planned to leave regardless. She knows where the danged camp is.

“Inquisition, wait!” Blackwall shouts.

She stops but doesn’t turn to face him. His footsteps whisper through the short grass as he jogs to catch up to her.

“The Divine is dead and the sky is torn. Events like these, thinking we’re gone is almost as bad as thinking we’re involved. If you’re trying to put things right, maybe you need a Warden. Maybe you need _me_.”

She looks at Cassandra, who says nothing and watches her closely to see what she’ll do. Elythia rolls her eyes at the woman.

“Yeah, fine, sure. Grey Wardens are big stuff, right? I don’t know what a single Warden is going to be able to accomplish, but that’s of no concern to me at this moment. We’re in need of all the help we can gather, so yes. By all means, join us, Blackwall,” Elythia tells him, scowling at the ground.

Unsure where her anger and attitude is coming from, she tries to rein it in as she turns again to continue back to their camp. Sure, he had killed people when it was unnecessary, but then so had the others in her group and she hadn’t treated them with the same hostility she’s treating this man. She sighs.

Solas clears his throat, interrupting her thoughts. His arm is extended with his long, dark green vest held out. She frowns, looking between him and the piece of clothing, but doesn’t take it. He slides his hand around her elbow and pulls her gently away from the group.

“It seems the culprit for your delicate moods today has revealed itself,” he mutters, still offering his vest.

She reddens as she realizes what he means and takes his vest, quickly putting it on and promising to try not to get stains on it. Of course she’s on her period right now. With all the excitement and stress, she’d completely forgotten about that monthly irritation. _Explains so much_ , she thinks to herself.

And she can’t decide which is worse: that Solas had been the one to point it out or that he’d been looking to see it in the first place.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couplafew things here: 
> 
> 1) I know, I said I was going to speed it up, but I just couldn't force myself with this one xD 
> 
> 2) "Ma nuvenin, da’avise" = "As you wish, little flame"
> 
> 3) I used a morphing website and spent aaaaaallllll day morphing a loooot of faces to get something that I was at least partially satisfied with. The eyes aren't the bright blue-green I wanted and her bottom lip is a little lopsided, but hey, we all have our flaws. Derp lol. 
> 
> 4) I left out lyrics for the song so that you could apply whatever song you want as I'm not one to hold back someone else's imagination. But if you're interested in what song I was listening to, it was a tie between these two:  
> <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-v8tVSgHCsY>
> 
> [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2QTDcffpunY ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2QTDcffpunY)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

Elythia stares up at the ceiling of her tent in frustration. She has been trying to enter the Fade for at least an hour now and has yet to do so. Again. Rubbing her eyes, she sits up and decides it’s time to do what she had been putting off since Blackwall had joined them: apologize to the man.

She inhales deeply, the smell of herbs heavy as she wears Solas’s long vest. Purposefully, she had taken it off and folded it to leave on the corner of her cot as she’d left her tent to wash futilely at the stain in her new pants. His danged piece of clothing brings her both comfort and concern. In the end, the comfort had won out and she hadn’t wanted to return it yet. She forces herself off the cot and out into the cool evening breeze.

Blackwall and Varric sit on the log in front of the fire, chatting in hushed voices while the dark haired, older man sharpens his blade. Solas is nowhere to be seen and Cassandra, she notices, is missing also. Her black joggers swish quietly as she makes her way to them and plops heavily on the log with a sigh, mindful of moving the bottom of Solas’s garment out from under her to avoid staining it.

“You good, Princess?” Varric asks, his brows lifting with concern.

She shrugs, “Fine and dandy. Little moody, apparently,” she smiles at him before turning to Blackwall, “And for that I apologize. I was harsh with you earlier and, while I still believe killing those men was unnecessary, I understand why it had to be done and I don’t fault you for it.”

“Varric explained you’re not from around here. I suppose your world has none of this then? The wars, the bandits, the good stuff, you know?”

“Oh, no, we do. Well, the wars, at least. But a lot of people are sheltered from it unless they, or a family member, are actively participating. As for bandits, we have thieves who break into homes to steal things or muggers who catch people unaware on the streets. No magic, no templars, no mages, no elves, no dwarves, no Grey Wardens, none of that.”

“Sounds boring. What do people do with themselves all day?”

She frowns, “I guess you’re right. It is kind of boring. Most go to work for eight hours and then come home to a few hours of rest and then sleep and repeat. It’s nothing like this place, I can tell you that.”

“And what did you do?” Varric inquires, his amber eyes filled with interest.

She blushes and grimaces, embarrassed to tell them that she had really done nothing with her life. A few college classes and that was it. She hadn’t had to work because her parents had died and left her with millions from their life insurance. It really is a sad story. Looking away, she sighs and answers.

“I came into money when my parents died. I did nothing with my life because I didn’t have to and for years I was just… lost and grieving.”

“What did you want to do… before?” he asks gently.

She meets his eyes again, “I wanted to be a chef so I could learn to cook like my mother. She had been a dancer, not a chef, but her food was always the best. She taught me some of what she knew before I grew into a pre-pubescent brat who wanted to sulk around our home and do nothing. I was the worst.”

“I can’t imagine,” he jokes with an easy smile, prompting one of her own.

A twig snaps behind them and the two men are on their feet, weapons drawn and pointed, before Elythia even registers what’s happening. She stands, also, turning to look into woods where the sound had come from. Blackwall relaxes and drops his sword arm, turning back around to plop onto the ground as the top of a bald head comes into view.

“Chuckles, I swear, you’re going to wind up at the end of one of my arrows if you keep this shit up,” Varric tells him before turning to Elythia with a shake of his blonde head, “He’s quieter than most until he’s right on you. Bet he even cracked that stick on purpose to warn us he was coming.”

Solas’s lip twitches as he joins them at the fire.

“In fact, I did, Varric. I did not think to frighten you by simply appearing out of thin air as you claim me capable of. Not while you were lost in conversation, at least.”

Elythia’s lips mirror his own as his stormy, grey-blue eyes meet her electric blues.

“Might I borrow you for a moment?” he asks in his silvery, lilting voice.

Her heart flutters in her chest and she tells herself to behave. _Stupid hormones_! She nods, not trusting her voice not to come out a breathy mess, and follows him across their camp to the small stream running from the lake above them.

“I gave the ambassador a list of items to acquire before we left Haven in preparation for your monthly bleed,” he begins, turning to face her, and she reddens slightly at the mention of her period, “When I went to gather them at the Crossroads, I happened by a young woman selling dried herbs. She had the exact plants needed to create the ‘Erelan’s dalavur,’ or the Dreamer’s leaf. It is a concoction that helps Dreamers to enter the Fade.”

“Without even trying?” she asks in excitement, her embarrassment currently forgotten.

“Yes, but I’ve decided not to part with them until you manage to enter on your own, just once.”

“What was the point in even telling me about them, then?”

“Incentive.”

She frowns, “But I still don’t know how I entered any of the other times I managed. And your whole ‘will it into being’ talks aren’t exactly helpful.”

“Hm,” he hums lightly, “You will figure it out eventually, and when you do, I’ll be waiting.”

“Useless,” she mutters with a roll of her eyes and a small, teasing smile.

He smirks and offers her a glass vial with a green liquid, much like the health potion Cassandra had given her back on her first day in Thedas, “Until then, take one drop of this each day of your bleed to quell the symptoms.”

She reaches out to take the bottle, her hand coming to rest on his. She gives the vial a pull, but he doesn’t release it. His impassive gaze roams over her face before landing once more upon her eyes, his calm inspection causing goosebumps to run along her arms and her pulse to skip.

“Dareth shiral, leal inan,” he murmurs as he lets the vial go.

“If that’s another way of calling me a child, I’m in the proper state of mind to stab you,” she dares to joke softly, the corner of her lips twitching.

He chuckles lightly, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly, but says nothing. She watches as the pale skin of his throat bobs in unison with the warm sound and wonders how it would feel to reach out and touch him. _Leave now_! her mind shouts at her and she turns quickly away from the enticing elven man. She walks as fast as her legs will allow without running outright from him and enters her tent.

She can’t decide if she wants to giggle or facepalm herself at the small, shared moment between them.

After administering the drop he’d suggested, she lies down on her cot and attempts to enter the Fade, failing once more. Still wrapped in the long, deep green vest smelling of him as she begins to fall asleep sometime later, she decides she definitely should have facepalmed.

.x.

“Wake up!” Cassandra yells from the opening of Elythia’s tent.

The sudden sound has her jolting straight up, heart beating wildly. Outside, the sounds of running and clinking fill the air. She hugs Solas’s vest around her as she peers out into the bright morning sun. More people than had been there the previous night scurry about, the metal of their weapons and shields clinking loudly.

“What’s going on?” she asks the person nearest her tent.

“The Herald of Andraste!” the girl exclaims as she notices the glowing green hand holding her tent open and salutes her, “We’ve word on the location of the rogue Templars. Plan is to move within the hour, attack and clear them out.”

She frowns at the young woman with her armor askew, reminding her of that first day when she’d attempted to close the Breach and the ill-fitted armor Cassandra had tossed her.

“How old are you?” Elythia questions, eyes narrowing in examination.

Her unlined, youthful face scrunches in confusion and she fiddles with her long, russet braid anxiously under the scrutiny.

“Herald?”

“How old? And please, call me Elythia.”

“I’m seventeen, Herald,” she admits, ignoring Elythia’s request to call her by her name.

 _Too young_ , Elythia thinks as she continues to frown at the girl, who doesn’t seem to take notice as she turns to watch in excitement as others flit about the camp. She looks around for Cassandra, determined to have a conversation with the woman about having children fighting for them. She spots the short-cropped, dark haired woman barking orders to a group of men and women, some who look just as young as the child outside her tent.

“Seeker, a word,” she demands, crossing her arms and waiting for Cassandra to join her away from the masses.

“Yes, Herald?”

“You know I prefer my name,” she grimaces quickly before turning serious, “Why are there children here?”

“If we are to spread the Maker’s word across the world, we must do so with open hearts and open hands,” she tells her, before saying in a clipped voice, “They are old enough to choose to be here. The Inquisition cannot and will not deny them.”

With that, Cassandra turns, leaving her shocked and staring after her in disbelief. Elythia watches her storm off to direct more people. She wonders briefly if she had done something to the woman, but quickly rules it just another of her unjustified moods.

The girl outside her tent rushes to grab armor and bring it to Elythia as instructed.

“What’s your name?” Elythia asks as the girl holds the breastplate up to place over her shoulders.

“Lysenna, Herald,” she announces happily with a smile.

She tightens the straps on Elythia’s shoulders with the ease and familiarity of someone who has done it for years, which is surprising considering hers remains too big and lopsided.

“Where’s your family?”

Lysenna pauses on the straps at her side for a moment before resuming with expert attention as she answers in a mutter, “I have none.”

“Is that why you’re here?” Elythia asks just as quietly as the girl had answered.

“No,” she replies, pulling the strap tightly and moving to the next, “I want to do something with my life besides be some farmhand’s wife. The Inquisition has a purpose, which in turn gives _me_ a purpose. Joining means I become part of something bigger than myself. So, when they came ‘round with the official announcement of the Inquisition and a recruitment sheet, my name was at the top of the list. And now here I am, suiting the Herald of Andraste herself in armor for battle.”

Elythia watches Lysenna in silence as she attaches the rest of the metal pieces of armor to her, tying and buckling everything tightly. She couldn’t blame the girl for trying to find a purpose, no matter how opposed she is to her fighting at such a young age. If she were born here, would she have just become some farmhand’s wife? Or would she have ended up here, like Lysenna, willing to die for something she believes in?

“Copper for your thoughts?” Varric asks as he joins her, handing her a bowl of mushy porridge, his armor and Bianca already equipped.

She sighs, “Too many to focus on these days.”

“I understand that. Sometimes we get overwhelmed and just need a break, which luckily for you, we’ll be getting this week. Seeker says we’re heading back to Haven tonight if all goes well and then it’s off to Val Royeaux.”

“Ah, a political massacre rather than a physical one. Same boat, different paddle.”

“Yeah, but at least the food will be better,” he offers with a shrug and a smirk as Lysenna continues to dress her in armor from her waist down while she pushes a spoon around in her bowl.

.x.

An hour after outfitting Elythia in armor and organizing their unit, they marched. Their group was considerably small, consisting of perhaps thirty men and women total, some decked out completely in armor and some, like Lysenna, in only the meager breastplate and vambraces she’d been given her first day in Thedas. This time they had fitted her in an almost full set of armor, the metal clinking with her every step and causing beads of sweat to gather beneath the heavy material.

Elythia had asked Lysenna to stick by her side, in a sort of bodyguard role, which the girl had been all too happy to do. She’d wanted to situate them in the back of the group, away from most of the fighting to keep her safe. And, if she were being honest, it was to also keep herself from having to kill anyone.

She had thought about giving the powder a go, but with so many bodies of their own, she was afraid she would end up hitting more of their men than the enemy. So, she had pocketed her velvet bag of shimmering blue dust and moved out with the last group.

Cassandra and Blackwall lead their small army forward. Varric had managed to work his way into the middle somewhere the last Elythia had seen, joking and keeping spirits high. Solas had disappeared completely. She had looked for his clean-shaven head since she first left her tent that morning, but he was nowhere to be seen.

They move quietly and quickly through the high grasses and over small streams, past the forests and the rolling green and yellow hills of the Hinterlands. At some point Varric must have quit with the jokes, as their army falls silent and all that can be heard is the hushed fall of water in the distance and the bubbling of the river running in front of them.

Excitement and fear hang tangible in the air and she knows without seeing over tall heads that they have reached their destination at last. Lysenna rocks from foot to foot beside her, anxiety obvious in her fiddling and movement. Elythia gives her hand a squeeze and she returns to gesture.

A metallic rustle of swords being pulled from sheaths fills the air. Lysenna removes her sword as quietly as possible and Elythia palms her daggers, ready but not – willing to protect, but not willing to kill.

A battle cry pierces the silence, a female voice that Elythia knows belongs to the Seeker. The crowd surges forward, screams echoing through the valley as they attack the templar encampment.

Elythia’s pulse races as she watches the Inquisition’s small group of soldiers slash at the other men. They work their way up the hill, cutting any in their path. Inquisition men and women fall, the templars’ blades striking true before some of the soldiers could even lift theirs.

She watches in horror as a templar steps forward and his entire body begins to glow brightly as he aims at a trio of Inquisition soldiers, the white light centering in his chest and bursting forward. The soldiers’ wails cut off with the end of the stream of light and their bodies collapse to the ground – unconscious or dead, she can’t tell. The templar turns his attention on another group.

Lysenna’s blade blocks her view as the girl bears down on a semi-armored man to their left. She cuts clean through his shoulder with her sharp blade and blood gushes from the wound and covers them both. Elythia spits the liquid that landed in her opened, surprised mouth onto the ground and gags.

Another attacker swings in from their left, behind where the other man had fallen to Lysenna’s strike and the girl meets his sword with her own in a grinding of metal on metal. The man shoves forward, easily pushing the girl back and gaining ground.

 _Help her!_ she growls at herself, raising her dagger for the hit.

But before she can pounce forward, a searing pain assaults her left arm as a blade tears through her skin, splitting the flesh between the armor’s crease at her elbow, and she cries out. Her left palm flares to life in that moment, sparking and spewing and aching with a growing intensity.

“Cassandra!” Elythia yells in warning to the Seeker, holding her gleaming hand high as a rift begins to rip open in the air beside them, and the woman hurls orders to the soldiers around her but her words are lost to Elythia.

Someone stabs the man at Lysenna’s front and frees her from his driving force. She steps toward Elythia and rams her sword into the neck of the templar who had cut her as he stands gawking at her hand and the rift now materializing.

She watches as an emerald haze develops, bits of it crystalizing in the air and then breaking off and shattering. It happens several times as a mist gathers in the center of it and beckons her left hand to take action.

Some of the soldiers split and attack the shades and wraiths that begin to pour from the wound and sprout from the bubbling green vapors on the blackened ground. The cut on her elbow throbs in time with the pulsing of her mark. She covers the laceration as she thrusts her palm out and begins to weave the rift shut, thankful for options other than stand in shock or stab someone.

Three Inquisition soldiers surround her, fending off any demons or templars that come too close, which must have been the order Cassandra had given. She can feel something stronger on the other side of the rift, slinking its way toward the opening, ready to burst free as she balls her fist and tries to wrench it closed, but nothing happens. A body falls to the ground on her right as two shades overpower the woman and one of the demons move on toward Elythia.

Lysenna steps forward to cut it down, her blade ramming into the neck of the creepily hooded figure. It dissolves into the ground and the girl gives Elythia a proud smile, which she returns.

And neither see the rogue templar that seemingly appears from nowhere behind Lysenna and plunges his blade through the skin at her neck. Her eyes widen in surprise as her blood gushes from the blow and leaks from her opened mouth. Elythia’s wildly pumping heart sinks in her chest, threatening to leave her body altogether.

She bites the back of her right hand to keep from releasing the sobs slowly building inside. Her left sputters, the stream of green energy winking in and out as her concentration wavers between worry of sealing the tear, sorrow for the girl whose body lay crumpled at her feet, and a burning anger at the quickly advancing templar.

The stubborn rift currently forgotten, she grabs her other dagger with her left hand and sidesteps the templar’s first strike and attempts her own blow, which is easily evaded by the man. Her armor weighs her down, constricting her movement, and his next attack connects. His misjudgment of her skills causes the flat of his sword to whack her in the chest, knocking the air from her lungs.

Falling back to try to catch her breath, she knocks into a soldier attempting to fight off a shade. She pushes him out of the way of both the templar and the demon and ducks to avoid a blade at the same moment the shade lunges for her. The templar strikes the shade hard, nearly severing it in two as she rolls away from them.

She springs in that moment, a knot of dread gnawing away at her insides already. Her dagger connects with the templar’s neck, sliding in too easily. Bile hits the back of her teeth as she twists her elongated knife and rips it at an angle through the front of his throat. She falls to her hands and knees as she spins from the sight of what she’d just done and empties the contents of her stomach.

Someone calls out to close the rift and Elythia inches toward it while dry heaves still wrack her body. She crawls past corpse after sightless, bloody corpse until she’s close enough to thrust her palm to the sky once more and feel the connection. She wills the rift closed with everything she has and this time, it obeys.

But the stronger demon she had felt previously had already made it through, attempting to pick off Inquisition soldiers. Cassandra is having none of it though, and Elythia watches as she and several men and women take down the large, molten creature she vacantly remembers being told is a rage demon. A cheer fills the sudden silence.

She looks around at the bodies and the chaos littering the valley with its babbling river and the hill where the templar encampment is nestled. Only a handful of Inquisition soldiers remain, along with Cassandra and Varric. Two templars kneel angrily on the ground in front of the Seeker as a woman places bindings on their wrists and feet.

Elythia’s hand reaches out to lay on the chest of the lifeless girl at her left. She wills herself to feel nothing as she looks down into empty hazel eyes, but her body betrays her as a sob rushes to escape and she chokes on the convulsive gasp.

It’s her fault, she decides. If she hadn’t had Lysenna stay in the back with her, the girl wouldn’t have tried to protect her. She wouldn’t have been there, placed so perfectly for the templar’s blade. She wouldn’t have died.

It’s all her fault.

If she had closed the rift faster, Lysenna wouldn’t have needed to be there to kill the demon that charged after her. She wouldn’t have been placed so precisely for the killing blow.

 _My fault_ , she hisses at herself.

If she weren’t so weak-minded and foolish, thinking she could survive in this world without having to fight actual, living people, Lysenna would still live. But others would be dead, at her hand, like the templar laying somewhere in the mess with half of his throat missing.

Time slips away from her as she gazes at the young woman of only seventeen years who’d had her whole life in front of her until she’d met Elythia. Would she be the death of them all eventually? Would Cassandra or Varric or Solas or even Blackwall fall because of her lack of action? How many more soldiers will die because of her?

It's all her fault. If she had been home that day, twelve years ago, she could have called for help. She could have done something, _anything_. Maybe her parents wouldn’t have died. Maybe she wouldn’t even be in this place, forced to kill or be killed or get others killed.

Warm fingers cover her own atop Lysenna’s chest, but she won’t – _can’t_ – look to see the accusation in their eyes that surely dwells within. How could they not view her as some coward who lets others die in her stead? Some weakling, too afraid to protect those she considers friends, no matter how little or how much she knows them.

The fingers curl around hers and pull, gently prying her blood-slickened hand from the breastplate. They remove her left vambrace and upper cannon to pull back the sleeve of her black compression shirt.

Air hisses between her teeth as they prod at her elbow. In all the madness of the battle and falling bodies, she had forgotten she’d been cut, sliced deeply at the elbow. It would seem she had managed to make herself feel nothing after all, she realizes, as she takes in the darkening sky and notes that hours must have passed while she sat staring into dull eyes.

Her elbow throbs only a few times before a familiar cooling breeze enters her arm and prods her every wound. She doesn’t look at Solas as he continues his healing process and he says nothing to tempt her.

His fingers skim the silky, sensitive flesh of her inner elbow, eliciting a shiver from her. She closes her eyes and draws comfort from his touch and his calming, healing magic, though she feels she isn’t deserving of it.

“You weren’t here,” she finally whispers inquiringly.

He’s silent for so long she thinks he may not reply when he answers quietly, “No, I was not.”

She looks at him then, at his blood-stained pants and his half-charred tunic revealing the slightest hint of his smooth, cream-colored hip.

“You’ve been fighting, as well?”

He nods slowly, his fingers still grazing her arm, “Cassandra thought it best I join the faction sent to suppress the apostates.”

“I’ve caused the death of several people today,” she admits with a sniffle and a broken voice, studying his deep blue eyes for condemnation.

But there is none. Or perhaps there is, but he keeps it hidden behind his ever present mask of impassivity.

“You will no doubt be the cause of many more as their Herald.”

The truth of his words sink deep into her bones as she processes them, accepts them. She has promised the people of Thedas that she will close the Breach and she has every intention to do so.

“Yes,” she replies dejectedly, her gaze returning to the lifeless, light brown eyes of the girl she’d gotten killed.

She realizes in that moment that to save them all, she will have to become the thing she had not wanted to be, the thing she knows without a doubt she _will_ become to save them: a murderer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Dareth shiral, leal inan” = “Safe journey, bright eyes”


	8. Chapter 8

**_She whimpers while she sleeps, her breath hitching and huffing against his throat as her head lolls in the crook of his neck. His thumb brushes the back of her left hand as he releases a bit of his aura to calm her troubled mind. A contented sigh escapes her and she relaxes, snuggling further into him while they trot along the path back to Haven. He gently eases his arms around her to grip the horn of the saddle, cocooning her body. He reassures himself it is only to keep her seated while she rests._ **

****

~~~

Elythia stretches her legs in the early morning sun and groans at the soreness from riding for five days. She had attempted to walk as much as possible to alleviate the discomfort… and, if she’s being honest, to avoid riding with Solas. Feeling his body pressed against her back had been far more stimulating than when she’d ridden behind him that day in the Hinterlands.

As much as she hates to admit it, nestling into his warm chest had made her feel safe. Enough so that she had fallen asleep against him during their travels, his even breathing and calming, now familiar smell lulling her to slumber.

The notion of him bringing her comfort makes her sigh loudly, garnering looks from her small party but she ignores them. She shouldn’t feel this way, but she had slowly been letting herself feel more for him in the passing days despite her own internal warnings. She plans to leave once the Breach is closed and a way back to her world is found. _If they find a way to return_ , she thinks, the thought only slightly disconcerting anymore.

Sounds of wood smacking together penetrate her thoughts as the path bends and widens to reveal men and women training just outside the tall stone walls surrounding Haven. They wind their way past tents and campfires and people, more than when they had left, who strike at each other and dummies stuffed with straw.

Elythia breaks off from her group as they take the horses to the stables further down the path. She walks through the gates and up the stairs, heading immediately to the wagon of goods and the blonde man selling them. His wares are laid out neatly, but she doesn’t see what she’s after.

“Herald,” the man says, bowing his head in greeting as he glances at her glowing appendage.

“Do you have shirts? Tunics?” she asks the man.

“I sell weapons and attachments, as well as some armor pieces, but no cloth. However, for slightly more coin, I may retrieve what you wish.”

She eyes the man suspiciously and ultimately passes, turning from his table to walk around Haven.

They head for Val Royeaux tomorrow and she’s been told the place harbors many merchants with the finest clothing. Not that she has the money to pay for anything, which she reminds herself she needs to ask someone about. But she seeks only a shirt to replace the charred thing Solas still wears, if only to cover the bare skin at his hip so that she might be able to concentrate on something other than, well, his bare skin.

When she had asked about a change of clothes, he had said only that he carried none with him, trading for what he needs when he needs it. He had managed to scrub most of the stains out of his pants, but there was nothing to be done about his half-missing shirt.

She had been tempted at one point to give his fur-lined vest back to him, but decided against it as the weather had turned colder the closer they had gotten to Haven. She will keep it for as long as it takes her to get the small satchel of herbs, which will allow her to enter the Fade, from him. Until then, his blood-stained, sleeveless robe remains wrapped tightly around her.

A group of armored men interrupt her thoughts, rushing past her in a hurry toward the Chantry. Their blonde Commander marches quickly on the same path the men had just taken, his face a statue of anger and annoyance. She follows behind him to see what the fuss is about.

In front of the Chantry is a large crowd of templars with their flaming sword armor and mages in their usual robes. Two men stand in the middle, arguing. She catches part of their conversation as she draws nearer.

“…kind killed the Most Holy!” yells the templar.

“Lies! It was your kind that _let her die_!” the mage – who she now realizes is the red-brown haired mage they’d helped in the Hinterlands, Luca – screams at his face.

“Shut your mouth, mage!”

The templar reaches for his sword hilt and Elythia’s eyes widen. Furious at his action, she stomps to him and slaps her left hand on his chest, willing her hand to glow brighter, but the darned thing doesn’t listen to her.

“Hey! You will withdraw your hand from your weapon or you will leave,” she tells him as calmly as she can manage.

He snarls at her before reining it in upon seeing her glowing palm. The man makes no further move to draw his weapon, nor does he move against Elythia. Cullen steps between the two men with a worried glance at her.

“Knight-Captain—”

“That is _not_ my title and we are no longer templars. We are all part of the Inquisition,” Cullen growls at the man and then looks to the other.

“And what does that mean exactly?” questions an impudent male voice and the crowd parts to let Chancellor Roderick through.

“Back already, Chancellor? Haven’t you done enough?”

“Haven’t I done enough, you ask, Commander, as your ‘ _Herald_ ’ threatens your man with the wickedness in her hand?”

Elythia scowls at the contemptuous man as she drops her hand from the templar’s armor. It only works on rifts anyway, not that these people are aware.

“She acts to stop ‘ _my man_ ’ from attacking _my other man_ , Chancellor. Something you would not even attempt,” Cullen responds in her defense.

“ _I_ am more worried about restoring order, Commander. And I’m curious as to how your Inquisition and its ‘Herald’ plan to do so.”

“Of course you are. You talk of restoring order, yet you sow our ranks with dissent. _She_ has done more to restore order than you have,” he snaps at the Chancellor while pointing to Elythia before turning to the murmuring crowd to shoo them, “Back to your duties, all of you.”

The majority disperse, the mages taking off toward the apothecary and the templars down the path leading outside the main gates of Haven. Elythia sighs, tired of all the fighting. How is she going to gather both mages and templars if the ones already recruited can’t even get along? Perhaps she was foolish in thinking she could gather both for the task of closing the Breach.

“They were already at war and now they’re blaming each other for the Divine’s death,” Cullen mutters, exhaling tiredly.

“Which is why we require the proper authority to guide them back to order,” the Chancellor hisses.

“Who, you? A random cleric not important enough to be at the Conclave?”

The man bristles at Cullen’s words, “The rebel Inquisition and its so-called ‘Herald of Andraste?’ I think _not_.”

“Well, I don’t understand,” Elythia begins, gaining their attention, “why we can’t just work together.”

“We might, should your Inquisition recognize the proper authority.”

Elythia frowns at him, “You keep saying the ‘proper authority,’ but the proper authority failed already, or the Conclave wouldn’t have been needed to begin with.”

“And what would you know of it, girl? You’re not from here, but you would assume to know our ways, to deem yourself our ‘ _Herald_ ,’” he spits the word at her angrily and she backs up slightly to avoid his saliva.

“I don’t believe I’m the ‘Herald of Andraste’ any more than you do, but the Inquisition—”

“Will use the misconceptions of that laudable humility when it suits them. And what of justice?” he asks the Commander, “Do you suggest I blame the Chantry and exalt a murderer?”

Cullen ignores his question and huffs, “The Inquisition claims only that we must close the Breach or perish. Doing anything other won’t help restore order in the here and now.”

“Order will never be restored so long as this rebellion – an upstart, eager to turn over every apple cart – is allow to _fester_. Centuries of tradition and Andraste will be our guide, not some dazed wanderer on a mountainside,” the Chancellor seethes.

Elythia’s temper flares to match his own and her cheeks flush as a result. She turns to Cullen as Chancellor Roderick storms away from them.

“Why is he even allowed to stay here if he feels so negatively toward us and does nothing but spread his hate?” she questions angrily.

“He’s toothless. There’s no point in turning him into a martyr simply because he runs at the mouth,” Cullen mutters, eyeing the man entering the Chantry with distaste.

Elythia takes a calming breath to still her anger. What an infuriating man the Chancellor is, and apparently nothing to be done about him. Her shoulders slump and she rubs her eyes.

“He’s a good indicator of what to expect in Val Royeaux. Are you sure you’re ready for that?” Cullen asks quietly beside her.

She shakes her head, “Do I have a choice?”

He doesn’t answer, which is answer enough for her. No, she doesn’t have much choice in the matter. They have dubbed her Herald and as such, they expect her to address the clerics and close the rifts and the Breach and gain influence for their Inquisition.

And she knows without a doubt that she will do it all.

.x.

Elythia knocks on the wooden door to Josephine’s work room and edges it open. Minaeve, an elven woman who studies their creature research, pulls the door fully open, dragging her along with it.

Josephine and a masked man stand in the far corner arguing softly. It seems everyone is determined to fight today.

“Marquis DuRellion,” Minaeve nods to the man, “He is trying to evict the Inquisition from the Chantry.”

“Is that possible?” Elythia asks, raising her brows at their hushed forms.

Minaeve shrugs and returns to her table in the corner, laden with papers and jars of things she’d rather not know about.

Elythia clears her throat to get the pair’s attention.

“Allow me to introduce you to the brave soul who risked her life to slow the magic of the Breach,” Josephine announces loudly, ushering her to join them, “Mistress Lavellan, this is the Marquis of DuRellion, one of Divine Justinia’s greatest supporters.”

“And the rightful owner of Haven. House DuRellion lent Justinia these lands for a pilgrimage. This Inquisition is not a beneficiary of the arrangement,” he tells them both in a thick French accent.

“I thought Haven belonged to the Chantry,” Elythia tells them, her brows knitting together.

The Marquis puffs his chest, “My wife, Lady Machen of Denerim, has claim to Haven by ancient treaty with the monarch of Ferelden. We were honored to lend its use to Divine Justinia. She is— _was_ a woman of supreme merit. I will not let an upstart order remain on her holy grounds.”

“But the people have been injured. Surely you wouldn’t just turn them out to the freezing snow.”

“And who benefits if they stay?” he counters.

Josephine speaks before Elythia can tell him she doesn’t actually know, “Divine Justinia, Marquis. The Inquisition, not the Chantry, is sheltering the pilgrims who mourn her.”

“Why is the Chantry ignoring the faithful?”

“Because it remains in shock.”

“Wait—Leliana and Cassandra began the Inquisition and they’re the Left and Right Hands of the Divine, right? So, if you lent it to the Divine, why not them as well?” Elythia asks in confusion.

“I’ve seen no written records from Sister Leliana or Seeker Pentaghast that Justinia approved the Inquisition.”

A bang echoes throughout the room and they turn to see Cassandra standing at the door. Her impatient face tells Elythia that she took too long in collecting Josephine.

“What is the meaning of this?” she directs the question to their ambassador.

“Ah, Seeker Pentaghast. I was just about to inform the Marquis if we are not to take you at your word – that the Divine approved of the Inquisition – that you must challenge him to a duel,” Josephine declares slyly.

Elythia bites her lip to keep from laughing upon noting her smiling eyes and the small, appalled gasp that escapes the Marquis. Cassandra catches on and smiles ruefully at the man.

“I am afraid it is an honor amongst us Nevarrans. Ambassador, could you arrange the bout for tonight, then?”

“No! No, perhaps my reaction to the Inquisition’s presence was somewhat hasty,” he offers with an anxious laugh, his hands held in the air in surrender.

“We face a dark time, Your Grace. Divine Justinia would not want her passing to divide us. She would, in fact, trust us to forge new alliances to the benefit of all, no matter how strange they might seem,” Josephine tells him softly.

“I’ll think on it, Lady Montilyet. The Inquisition might stay in the meanwhile.”

She expresses her gratitude while she walks him to the Chantry door to see him out. Cassandra turns to Elythia with a smile, lifting her normal serious face into something relaxed and beautiful – and less old, she realizes. The woman could not be more than mid-thirties.

“You wouldn’t really have dueled him, right?”

“Oh, I would have, if it meant the Inquisition stays here at Haven,” she admits sincerely.

“Well, at least we aren’t getting tossed out into the cold.”

“He is only the first of many dignitaries we will contend with.”

“Fantastic,” she sighs to Cassandra, who heads for the war room.

Elythia waits for Josephine to make her way back down the hall toward them.

“I apologize for the intrusion. I didn’t realize you were with the Marquis when I came looking for you.”

“You did little harm. In truth, the debate was most beneficial as practice for those to come. He will share his thoughts of us upon his return to Val Royeaux. Every guest we receive, and we will receive them, will spread the story of the Inquisition after they depart. As ambassador, it is my duty to ensure the tale is as complimentary as possible. You sought me out for a reason, did you not?”

“Meeting in the war room.”

She nods and enters her room, grabbing her board of papers with its candle still burning and shoos Elythia into the other room. Cullen, Leliana, and Cassandra, wait for them, the latter pacing impatiently behind the war table without her previous smile.

“Tomorrow you leave for Val Royeaux to address the clerics,” Leliana states, gauging her reaction.

But she has none to give. It had already been decided, she’d assumed at least, that she would talk with the clerics on the Inquisition’s behalf. That had been Mother Giselle’s intent, anyway.

“I still believe this is a bad idea,” Cullen mutters with a quick, worried glance at Elythia.

“Mother Giselle isn’t wrong about the Chantry’s only strength right now being that they are united in opinion. We should make a move while we can,” Josephine pipes up.

“And ignore the danger to the Herald?” Leliana questions quietly.

The four of them turn to Elythia expectantly. She already knows the risks of what they want her to do and has vowed to do them anyway.

“I’ll do it, regardless of the danger. I’m only going to talk to the clerics for now, right? Besides, I’m more worried that this won’t actually help us,” she confesses.

Because why would sending her, their false Herald, help them? Especially if they’re still calling for her head over the Divine’s death, even though they’d gotten some proof that she hadn’t actually, intentionally, caused the explosion at the Conclave.

“I agree. It just lends credence to the idea that we should care what the Chantry says,” Cullen tells them.

“I will go with her,” Cassandra joins in, her pacing halted momentarily, “Mother Giselle said she could provide us names. Right now we can’t approach anyone for help with the Breach. We should use what influence we have to call the clerics together. Once they are ready, we will see this through.”

“Then it is decided,” Leliana declares, turning to Elythia with a serious expression, “Do not under estimate the power of their words. An angry mob will do you in just as quickly as a blade.”

Elythia nods in acknowledgement and leaves the four of them to continue their discussions without her. She doesn’t need to be there for the placement of troops or the arguments over coin.

Josephine had already informed her that working as their Herald, she does receive a small stipend, which is being held until needed. Elythia had brought up wanting some of it for purchases in Val Royeaux and she’d agreed to gift her with a small purse when they depart in the morning.

The cold breeze off the snow stings against her cheeks as she exits the Chantry, but she doesn’t mind. The war room had been a bit stuffy with the four of them arguing and Elythia just taking up space. This is much more enjoyable and she takes a deep breath of the crisp winter air.

“’Scuse me,” a smooth but irritated voice says from her right, “I’ve got a message for the Inquisition, but I’m having a hard time getting anyone to talk to me.”

“If I can help, I will,” she tells the heavily armored person with a smile.

“Good. I’m Cremisius Aclassi, with the Bull’s Chargers mercenary company. We mostly work out of Orlais and Nevarra. We’ve got word of some Tevinter mercenaries gathering and my Commander, Iron Bull, offers the information free of charge. We’d like to offer the Inquisition our services, and are willing to show what we’re capable of should you meet us in the Storm Coast.”

“Well, Cremisius Aclassi, I’m Elythia Lavellan,” she tells him, shaking his hand in greeting, “Or as others around here like to call me, ‘The Herald of Andraste’ and I would be delighted to come meet your company. But it’ll be days before we can get there. We’ve got a meeting in Val Royeaux first.”

“Even better. We’ve got references, if you ask around Val Royeaux. We’re tough, we’re loyal, and we don’t break contracts.”

Elythia shrugs, “You don’t have to convince me. I’ve been tasked with recruiting people to the Inquisition and here you are, people to be recruited.”

“We do come at a price, though. Usually it’s the contract with the first real offer, but this time, for the first time, my boss has gone out of his way to pick a side. He thinks you’re doing good and would like to work for the Inquisition.”

She nods, “Go inside, big door at the very back, and ask for Leliana. Tell her the Herald sent you to schedule a meeting within the next two weeks on the Storm Coast.”

The man smirks gratefully and inclines his head, “Herald.”

“Please, call me Elythia.”

He leaves her standing alone outside the Chantry.

.x.

The darkening of the sky casts shadows upon the path to the apothecary as she makes her way toward the tents set up for the mages. Music flows loudly from the tavern and a beautiful voice sings about fighting and living on. Before she realizes it, she’s outside of Solas’s cabin.

He stands at his rough stone wall with his arms behind his back, fingers clasped loosely, looking out into the setting sun.

“What’s on your mind when you stare at the sunset with such focus?” she asks lightly, stepping beside him.

The corner of his mouth lifts as his eyes meet hers and he turns slightly. His brow quirks upon realizing just how closely she stands, but neither moves away.

“Everything,” he mumbles in that enchanting voice of his, his eyes roaming over her face slowly.

She blushes at the intensity of his lingering gaze and looks away, toward the mountains in the distance. But still, she feels his heavy observation of her. She clears her throat.

“You know, you’ve taught me quite a bit about the Fade, but I still know so little about you,” she admits innocently.

“Why would you like to know more?”

“You’re an apostate who continues to risk his freedom to help the Inquisition.”

“Not the wisest course of action, when framed in such a manner.”

“I’ve come to consider you a friend,” she offers as she looks as him once more, knowing fully well that what she seeks will lead to a destination she isn’t yet willing to arrive at, but she tests the waters anyway.

He turns to face her, so close his arm brushes hers with the movement.

“Apologies. With so much fear in the air…” he trails off, shaking his head, “What would you know of me?”

 _Everything_ , her mind whispers in echo of his own words just a moment before, but she refuses to say it aloud. _No_ , she admonishes herself. Travel. Travel seems a safe topic.

“You seem to be well traveled,” she prompts, smiling up at him.

“Yes,” he smiles, a quick tug at the corner of his mouth, in return and his eyes shine with enthusiasm, “This world’s memory is reflected in the Fade. Should you dream in ancient ruins, you may see a city lost to history. Some of my fondest memories were found in crumbling cities long picked dry by treasure seekers. The best are the battlefields. Spirits press so tightly on the Veil that you can slip across with but a thought…”

He pauses, lost in his musings, and she waits for him to finish.

“I surmise that is how you so easily entered the Fade that night in the Hinterlands. Although, how you managed to intrude upon my dreamstate, I remain unsure except to claim probability of the mark you possess,” he tells her with a perplexed look upon his face and a glance at her left hand.

She raises it between them and holds it out for him to inspect. Sometimes, perhaps when he believes that she doesn’t notice, she catches him staring at her mark with keen interest. He had wanted to study it before, when she was unconscious, but hadn’t brought it up and she hadn’t offered until now.

“I’m sure it won’t bite,” she jokes when he doesn’t immediately take it, extending it further toward him.

He takes her left hand gently in both of his and spreads her fingers wide as he rubs them and her palm with his thumbs. Her pulse quickens at the contact but she ignores it.

The mark bathes them both in a neon glow amidst the shadows of the late evening and she watches him as he studies her. She’d swear she caught a glimpse of longing in the depths of his stormy blue-grey eyes. But, as is common with him, the look is gone as quickly as it came.

His warm fingers softly kneading her hand has her relaxing against the crumbling stone wall to her right, putting the tiniest amount of space between them. Even without his cool breeze, he manages to make her feel calm and comforted. The feeling is a welcomed one compared to the pain it usually causes her when rifts are near.

“I have questions also, if we are to get to know one another,” he tells her quietly.

“Mhm,” she hums in assent.

“Your parents—neither bore ears similar to yours?”

“No,” she admits with a frown, but curious, she asks, “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Are you certain they were your birth parents?” he inquires slowly, carefully instead of answering her.

“I’m nearly identical to my mother, Solas. But if you’re asking if we had DNA tests done to confirm, then no,” she tells him simply, without much emotion.

His gaze flickers to her ears and back.

“They’re a deformity. People in my world are born with misshapen ears, which are worked on surgically and then stitched back together, leaving them pointed.”

“Yet yours bear no sign of surgical involvement, no scar from a needle,” he argues gently.

She shakes her head, “I didn’t need it. They—came out this way… Some people’s ears just come out this way in my world, but elves don’t exist there.”

He releases her hand and his next words penetrate her denial.

“Perhaps you are not from your world. You did fall through a rift into Thedas, after all. It is not so inconceivable that someone managed to somehow open a portal into your world years beforehand.”

And she couldn’t argue. Knowing very little about the magic of this world and how it works, how could she? Solas knows far more than her, and if _he_ believes it possible… That means, and she isn’t too sure how she feels about it, that she could very well be a Theodosian elf.

But her mind wants to refuse the thought. _Human_! it screams at her, as it always has when someone accused her of being other because of her pointed ears and too big, too bright eyes.

Her brows knit together and she can feel the beginnings of a headache forming. This is all too much for her to process in this moment. Elven, human, Theodosian, American. Rifts and dimensions and worlds. Are her parents even her parents? Well, her mother is for sure, but she had never really favored her father, in appearance or otherwise.

Could her dad have not been her biological father? Is her biological father, if not the man she thought her dad, an elf? How did he slip through a portal into World One? Why did he leave this world? Who is he? So many questions and no one to answer them.

“There’s so much I don’t know,” she says finally, breaking their silence.

“Indeed, it seems there is much that I was also not aware of, but will rectify in due time.”

“Teach me. If you believe it’s possible that I’m truly elven, I want to know _everything_.”

“When you return from Val Royeaux, I will share with you what I know.”

She frowns at him, “You’re not coming with us?”

“I had not thought to accompany you, no,” he tells her hesitantly.

“Sathan, hahren, won’t you come with me to Val Royeaux?”

She bites her lip to keep from laughing at his astonished expression. When she had sent notes to Leliana, per Cassandra’s instructions, with updates, she had also asked the woman to find her any books with Elvish translations. She’d entered her rooms earlier to find a small book on her bed and although it didn’t contain too much information, it was enough, clearly, to shock Solas.

“You surprise me at every turn,” he mutters with a warm smile, which she reciprocates.

“Come with me to Val Royeaux.”

He inclines his head, “Ma nuvenin.”

“Ma serannas, Solas. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I think it’s time for bed.”

“Dareth shiral, leal inan,” he whispers on the wind as she turns to head for the Chantry.

She feels lighter than she has in a long time after their conversation, despite the questions invading her mind and the start of a headache. Enough so, even, that she nearly skips up the path.

 _Flirting with disaster_ , her mind warns, but she ignores it in this moment and smiles to herself as she makes her way down the Chantry hall to her room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** “Sathan, hahren” = “Please, elder”  
> ** “Ma nuvenin” = “As you wish”  
> ** “Ma serannas” = “My thanks/thank you”  
> ** “Dareth shiral, leal inan” = “safe journey, bright eyes”
> 
> Feel free to share your thoughts on Solas's perspective as any feedback is welcomed! Was it too much? I didn't want it to seem intimate just yet, but I wanted to do _something_. Lol :P 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Hope you all enjoyed this one. :D


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I wrote chapter 9 and then rewrote chapter 9 and then I merged some things between the first draft of the chapter and the rewrite and then I pretty much deleted it all and rewrote the entire thing. So, fourth times the charm, maybe? Lol. Hopefully you guys enjoy this chapter. I have felt a little drained emotionally this last week, so if it doesn't hit the way I want it to when I read it again (probably next week), I'll likely go in and change the whole thing again. But we'll see!

The next morning brought more arguments between Chancellor Roderick and Cullen as they had stood outside Elythia’s room screaming. She’d cracked the door with wild bedhead and an irritated look as they’d woken her well before she was ready to get up. Cullen had given her a sheepish grin and a muttered apology, but the Chancellor had ignored her completely, continuing his argument.

“This should all be left to the new Divine. If she is innocent, the Chantry will establish it so.”

Cullen had sighed and ran a hand over his tired face, “Or they will be happy to use someone as a scapegoat.”

“You think nobody cares about the truth? We all grieve Justinia’s loss.”

“But you won’t grieve if the Herald is conveniently swept under a carpet,” Cullen growled with a gesture to her, where she stood running her fingers through her hair to untangle the mess.

“She is _not_ the Herald of Andraste, she even said so herself!”

“No, I said I don’t _believe_ I am, Chancellor,” she’d corrected him, “But whether I believe I’m the Herald or not doesn’t matter. What matters is what the people believe. It gives them hope. I won’t take that away from them.”

“So you intend to spread lies and blasphemy instead,” he hissed.

“No, my intention is to spread hope or at least optimism that the Breach will be sealed and demons will stop spilling from rifts. You, I’ve been told, have been spreading hate and causing arguments. Should I hiss and spit at you the way you do at me? Should I call for your head, Chancellor?”

He'd sputtered his nonsense to her and left them standing outside her bedroom door watching him stomp off once more.

“That man will stomp his way through the ground one day if he isn’t careful,” Elythia had muttered, drawing a smile from Cullen.

“Not nearly soon enough.”

She’d reached out and gave his arm a reassuring squeeze, “I’ll make sure they see reason in Val Royeaux.”

“I pray you do.”

She’d left him standing in the hall with an exhausted expression as he watched her walk out of the Chantry toward the mage’s tents. That’s where she had been going the night before when she’d been distracted by a certain someone she’d decided to avoid this morning until they left so that she might actually get things done.

She had meant to hunt down Luca, one of the mages she’d recruited in the Hinterlands. He had been the one arguing with the templar in front of the Chantry and she needed to have a talk with him. The templar had been dealt with by Cullen and she trusted he’d been properly disciplined.

Solas had been nowhere to be seen as she had made her way toward the tents behind his cabin, which she was thankful for. Something about him draws her in. Is it the stories he shares with her or perhaps the excited way he shares them? Is it his anticipation of her needs as he had demonstrated on more than one occasion? Or could it be the way he looks at her when he doesn’t think she notices, staring with fascination like she’s some secret puzzle he can’t yet solve, which gives her goosebumps and makes the dirtier part of her mind wonder inappropriate things.

 _Everything_ , her mind had whispered in retrospect of their conversation the previous night, _It’s everything about him_.

“Been a while,” a voice had called from somewhere within the mass of tents and campfires.

She’d looked up into the kind brown eyes she remembered and smiled. Alwin led her through the crowd to his sister and Luca, who were huddled with a group of mages, talking enthusiastically.

“I came to talk about the near fight yesterday,” she’d told him with tight lips and crossed arms, “It can’t happen again. The Breach is the most important goal right now and the Inquisition fighting amongst itself won’t help anyone.”

“Don’t worry, Herald. I plan to avoid the templars from here on out, as instructed by Sister Nightingale. That woman scares me, so no worries about us stepping out of line,” Luca had assured her.

With that finished, she’d stayed and listened to them talk about the mage rebellion and the Grand Enchanter while she had breakfast with them. Alwin engaged her in conversation regarding her world at one point and they’d listened, intrigued, as she’d told them of all she could think of in the moment until Varric had come to pull her away to begin their trip to Val Royeaux.

“Don’t let anyone riot while we’re gone,” she’d told Cullen with a smile as he’d slipped extra supplies into her horse’s saddlebags.

“The walls will be standing when you return. I hope.”

Her smile had widened.

“ _I_ hope we don’t get to Val Royeaux just to find a city full of chancellors.”

Cullen had chuckled and offered her a hand as she mounted the animal, “The stuff of nightmares, truly.”

Solas had climbed behind her not soon after, scooting back to give her room, leaving a gap between them. She’d felt slightly disappointed that he’d given her space, but knew it was for the best.

With everyone saddled, they began their seven day journey to Val Royeaux.

.x.

Pedagogue, who seemed to appear and disappear often, had supplied Elythia with books to study on their trip and she was thankful the woman hadn’t accompanied them. She would much rather read books than listen to her drone on in her dull voice. But she much preferred her party’s take on the events she read about. Solas’s in particular.

“I’ve dreamt at Ostagar,” he’d said quietly next to her ear as he’d peered over her shoulder to read what she did.

She’d smiled at his nearness before she could stop herself and straightened, which had caused her back to press into his chest as he’d tilted himself forward to see her book. He’d immediately tensed at the contact and leaned away from her to give her space. It seemed a bit of an overreaction considering she had fallen asleep against him many times and when she had woken, she’d been pressed thoroughly against him, but he had yet to discourage the action and so she kept doing it.

“Tell me about it,” she had encouraged, closing the book and turning slightly in the saddle to view him without straining.

And he had. He’d told her of what he had seen of the darkspawn and explained what they were and that he’d seen the valor of the Fereldan warriors. He’d told her of what he saw of Alistair and the Hero and their lighting of the signal fire. He’d seen Loghain’s infamous betrayal, he’d said, of King Cailan’s forces.

“He just let them all die? But why?” she’d asked after hearing that Loghain had called a retreat.

“It was said that Cailan intended to marry the Empress to unite Orlais and Fereldan, which meant he’d abandon his supposedly barren queen, Anora, who happened to be Loghain’s daughter. But with the king dead, she could not be cast aside and Loghain declared himself regent for his daughter.”

“So he did it for power? Or did he do it for his daughter?”

“Perhaps.”

“That isn’t an answer,” she’d laughed, watching as the corner of his lips had twitched in response.

“One can only assume his reasoning without asking the man himself. But there are always different sides to every story. I have seen the heroic Wardens lighting the fire and a power-mad villain sneering while he lets King Cailan fall, but I have also seen an army overwhelmed and a veteran commander refusing to let more soldiers die in a lost cause.”

“Is he a good guy or a bad guy, then?”

“Yes.”

She’d shaken her head at him and bit back a smile.

“I merely try to see past black and white or good and evil. There are more possibilities amidst the grey areas,” he’d muttered as she had opened her book to carry on to the next section.

But his words had left her staring unseeingly at the pages while she had spent hours, well beyond when the sun had set and camp had been made, pondering them.

.x.

The last two days of their trip consisted of traveling the Imperial Highway, which Elythia had not been enthusiastic about.

“Can’t I just sleep through it?” she’d asked hopefully as they had idled just outside of the arched monstrosity.

“I doubt you want the headache that comes with sleeping for so long, Princess,” Varric had said from the back of his and Cassandra’s mount.

“Might I suggest,” Solas had spoken up, “that you use this time to attempt to enter the Fade? It would draw your attention away from the current situation and should you succeed, I still carry the Erelan’s dalavur with me and would be willing to share it with you.”

“I don’t think that’ll help distract from the fact that I’ll be on yet another bridge.”

He was quiet a moment before he’d lifted his right hand and asked for hers. She’d placed the fingers of her left hand in his without hesitation and was rewarded by a cool breeze that had washed through her body and calmed her senses. The same as when she were being healed by him, but she had no wounds.

“What is that exactly?” she’d questioned with closed eyes as she relaxed against him.

“A cleansing aura, to remove any negativity within a vessel,” he’d muttered, his breath tickling her ear.

“Not a healing magic as I’d previously assumed, then.”

“No, but I had used a cleansing aura to mask the knitting of flesh in order to spare you from the pain. I did not think it necessary to further subject you to trauma after everything else you had been through.”

She’d blushed at his confession and smiled secretly to herself. They’d entered the highway with her resting lightly against his rigid form, her fingers still in his hand, both of which rested at her hip. She had hoped he would relax and when he didn’t she had pulled herself away from him and let her fingers slip from his hand so as not to cause him further discomfort at her touch.

The disconnection had left her feeling anxious once more, but she had decided to try to work through it on her own. She’d taken deep breaths as she had rubbed her chest and tried to calm herself. But at some point she had begun to hyperventilate and felt the bile rising in her throat. Her heart nearly pumped out of her chest as she’d gazed out beyond the Imperial Highway.

And then the world had calmed and a light breeze had washed its way through her as Solas had lain his hand upon her own and let his magic comfort her.

“I’m sorry,” she’d whispered with a sigh as she once more leaned against him while he soothed her wildly beating heart.

“You needn’t apologize for something you have no control over. Nor should you put yourself needlessly through anxiety if help is within reach.”

She’d blushed as she had admitted to him, “I can feel you tense when I touch you. I only meant to make you less uncomfortable.”

“I—” he had begun, snapping his mouth shut and beginning again after a moment of silence, “Ir abelas. I had not realized that I was doing so. It is not _your_ touch that causes such a reaction, but rather the touch itself. I have not had much interaction with others in… quite some time.”

She’d chided herself about being stupid as her heart had once more picked up speed, that time at his words. No matter how much she had tried, she couldn’t shake them from her mind, ‘ _it is not_ your _touch that causes such a reaction_.’ After that, she had felt him try to relax behind her as she’d continued to rest against him.

.x.

“We camp here for the night and drop the horses at a stable in the morning before we enter the city,” Cassandra had hold them after they’d exited the Imperial Highway and found a waterfall with a small pool beneath it to refill their waterskins and wash themselves.

The small camp they had made, with just their bedrolls and a campfire to warm them when night fell, was nothing like the others they had stayed in and privacy was nonexistent. So when they had decided to wash themselves, it was at opposite ends of the pond with their backs turned to each other.

But Elythia could not stop herself as she’d feigned washing her shoulder for the third time to glance over it. Solas had kept his pants on, but his half missing sweater had been tossed into the water for a wash.

She had blushed at her depravity, but had continued to watch as he’d ran his long fingers over the creamy, glistening, lean muscles of his back and shoulders which had been hidden beneath his sweater. Her mouth had gone dry at the sight of him, her task of feigning forgotten until Cassandra had cleared her throat beside her.

She’d dipped beneath the water completely to cool herself and her flaming face off and to hide from the Seeker, who had caught her. When she’d finished, she had exited the water with the cloth they’d given her to use as a towel wrapped around her and had stood by their fire drying off.

Solas’s bare back was etched into her mind and she’d thought of nothing else as she had gazed into the fire and waited to dry and dress in the new clothes that Josephine had given her before they’d left. But she had refused to look at him any more that night for fear that her perving was written plainly on her face.

.x.

“Oh my,” she breathes as they come upon the bridge leading into Val Royeaux, and this one she doesn’t mind as it hovers above still water.

Boats, reminiscent of old Venetian gondolas, float lazily about the lake with occupants dressed elaborately, fanning themselves in the mild heat. The buildings ahead tower high in white and blue and gold and along the buildings creep vines, perfectly placed to give an enchanting feel to the whole of the city.

A bell tolls in the distance as they near another set of golden gates that open to a passageway lined with statues set back in arched alcoves.

“The city still mourns,” Cassandra tells them somberly.

A couple who had wandered into the path whispers to each other as they watch their small group and, upon seeing Elythia’s glowing hand, gasp and turn, running back into the marketplace.

“Just a guess, but I’d say they know who we are,” Varric says with a glance at Cassandra.

“Your skills of observation never fail to impress me, Varric,” she deadpans sarcastically.

“I hone them in my lone time just for the occasion.”

“You two are impossible,” Elythia mutters with a smile.

A woman in the same clothing all of Leliana’s scouts wear runs toward them from the center of the city.

“My lord Herald! They know you’re here. I must warn you: Chantry mothers await you, but so do a great many templars. The people seem to think they’ll protect them from the Inquisition. They’re gathered on the other side of the market, where I believe the templars intend to meet you,” she tells them breathlessly.

“They wish to protect the people… from us?” Cassandra questions with a scowl and then mutters, “I did not expect the templars to make an appearance.”

“No, not from us. From _me_ ,” Elythia’s voice wavers as her face burns and her stomach turns.

Of course they would want to protect the people from her. They still believe she killed their Divine. And how could she blame them after the massacre of the templars in the Hinterlands? She is, after all, a murderer now. The people who died that day, every last one of them, is blood on her hands – whether through physical altercation or simple inaction doesn’t matter as both had led to the same outcome.

 _Suck it up_ , she tells herself, as she has for the last couple weeks when her mind had wandered into that dark place.

“The people may just be assuming what they’ll do, as I’ve heard of no concrete plans,” the scout informs Cassandra as Elythia turns from her group to take a deep breath and steel herself.

A hand lands on her forearm and Varric mutters, “When it’s you or them and they don’t stop to consider you, choosing yourself isn’t the wrong answer. If we hadn’t attacked, more people would have been hurt during their war. Just look at the Crossroads, mostly safe now that the apostates and templars are taken care of in that area.”

“I know. I keep reminding myself of that, but others still died needlessly because I hesitated. And I hesitated because I’m too weak for this world.”

“I think you’re doing fine for someone who survived an explosion, the Fade, demons, the Breach, and now several attempts on your life. Could lives have been spared had you not hesitated? Sure, but they knew what they were doing, or they should have, and they knew what they’d signed up for. You can’t dwell on them all or you’ll drown in a sea of dead, Princess.”

Elythia lays her hand atop his, still on her forearm, and gives it a squeeze, “Thanks, Varric.”

She forces herself to feel nothing. Empty is better than letting her emotions get the best of her and having a meltdown in front of everyone. They need her to be strong, at least until the Breach is closed. After that, she plans to thoroughly breakdown and cry herself into oblivion.

“I know Lord Seeker Lucius and I can’t imagine him coming to the Chantry’s defense, not after all that’s occurred,” Cassandra comments as Elythia and Varric turn back to them.

She can see Solas gazing curiously at her from her peripheral, but she ignores him. Best not to mix in that bag of hormones.

“So, what does it mean exactly that the templars are here for us?” Elythia asks cautiously.

Cassandra sighs with a shake of her head, “It means the potential for trouble has more than doubled. Try to avoid conflict if possible. We don’t want a pitched battle in the middle of the bazaar.”

“Of course,” she mutters, as the last thing she wants is more blood on her hands.

“Return to Haven. Someone will need to inform them if we are… delayed,” the Seeker tells the scout, who bows with a fist over her heart and takes off quickly in the direction they’d come from.

Cassandra heads for the marketplace with its center tower and bustling crowd, most of which have gathered around a platform with a woman in religious garb giving a speech. Elythia’s pulse races as they walk close enough now to hear what the woman is saying. She clenches her hands in nervousness.

“Hear me!” the woman shouts, “Our Divine and her naïve and beautiful heart has been silenced by treachery. You wonder, ‘what will become of her murderer?’ Wonder no more! Behold, the so-called Herald of Andraste, claiming to rise where our beloved fell! We say this is a false prophet! The Maker would not send an _elf_ in our hour of need!”

The woman points to Elythia and the crowd turns, some with gasps of horror, others with wonder and intrigue. Her face reddens at the sudden, unwanted attention, but this time she keeps her head held high. She cannot bend before these people or their chance of gaining influence to close the Breach decreases, something that none of them can afford.

“Tell us, Blasphemous One, why have you come?”

“We came to talk about the Breach, if you’ll just give us a moment of your time,” Elythia calls loud enough for all to hear over the whispers of the crowd and stops at the edge of the platform, just below the woman.

“It is too late,” she hisses, pointing a finger into the throng of gatherers to a group of templars walking toward them, led by an older man with grey hair, “The templars have returned to the Chantry! They will face this ‘Inquisition,’ and the people will be safe once more!”

They march past everyone to stand upon the wooden stage. One of the templars shoves her as they pass by and Elythia catches her as she falls. Both tumble to the ground in a heap, their heads smacking together in the process.

A younger templar steps forward as though to give assistance, but the grey haired man, Lord Seeker Lucius she presumes, stops him with a hand on his chest as he proclaims in a gravelly voice, “Still yourself, Barris. Mother Hevara is beneath us.”

Two clerics rush forward to untangle a dazed Mother Hevara from Elythia and help her perch upon the edge of her platform while a set of hands slide beneath Elythia’s arms to scoop her off the ground.

“Lord Seeker Lucius—” Cassandra begins, but he cuts her off with a sneer.

“You will not address me… Creating a heretical movement and raising up a puppet as Andraste’s prophet. You should be ashamed. You should all be ashamed!” he shouts to the crowd, “The templars failed no one when they left the Chantry to purge the mages! _You_ have failed, as you would leash our righteous swords with doubt and fear. Val Royeaux is no longer worthy of our protection!”

Some of those gathered break into sobs while others merely stare in stunned silence at the man.

“The Inquisition, despite what you think of us, is just trying to seal the Breach. If you would just take a moment—”

The Lord Seeker cuts Elythia off this time, “To speak with you? A nobody with no influence, no power, and certainly no holy purpose? You have shown me nothing, and the Inquisition… less than nothing. _I_ will make the Templar Order a power that stands alone against the void because _we_ deserve the recognition.”

The younger templar who’d attempted to help Mother Hevara, Barris, steps between him and Elythia, “But what if she really is sent by the Maker?”

“You will not question me. We are called to a higher purpose,” he growls at the man and turns to the others, “Templars! We march!”

They follow their Lord Seeker as the crowd parts for them, all but Barris. He hesitates, looking torn between following the templars and speaking with the Inquisition while some of the crowd breaks off and follows the templars to the gates. Others continue their leisurely stroll around the market as they whisper behind fans and masks, glancing often at Elythia and her glowing hand.

“If you have something to say, spit it out already,” Cassandra prompts the unsure man hurriedly.

“Something is wrong. Lord Seeker Lucius has not been himself as of late. I’m not sure what it is, but I intend to find out. Do not give up hope on the templars just yet as there are those of us within the Order who have noticed his change and we do not agree with him.”

“That is relieving to hear. The Lord Seeker I knew was a decent man, never given to grandstanding. _That_ was not the same man. Investigate lightly, and if I might ask, should you find anything, please let the Inquisition know. We will help where we are able.”

He nods, “Rally the most influential nobles of Orlais toward the Inquisition’s purpose in the meantime and send them to Therinfall Redoubt with demands that the templars help seal the Breach. It might spur him into action.”

Cassandra smiles at the man, “That is… not a bad idea.”

He returns her smile and salutes, “Seeker. Herald. Good luck, and Maker be with you.”

With that, he jogs to catch up with the others. Elythia turns to Mother Hevara.

“Are you alright?”

The woman scowls at the ground before raising her steely gaze to Elythia, “We have been abandoned by our own templars and my fellow clerics have scattered to the wind, along with their convictions. What do you think? Just tell me this: are you the Maker’s chosen, as so many claim?”

She frowns at the woman and tells her honestly, “I don’t personally believe I am, but then I also don’t believe in a higher power. And it doesn’t matter what I believe in the end. There’s a hole in the sky with demons pouring out and the people need more to cling to than just fear. If calling me ‘Herald of Andraste’ gives them hope, then who am I to say otherwise? I won’t crush someone’s belief or faith just because it doesn’t align with my own.”

“That is more comforting than you know.”

She mutters words to the man beside her and he helps her stand. They walk away, leaving the Inquisition’s small party of four standing alone in the market.

Solas clears his throat from behind her, “I have matters to attend and will see myself to camp later in the evening.”

“Do you think it wise to wander around the city alone?” Cassandra questions him quietly with a frown.

“Ah, Seeker, he won’t be alone. The Herald and I will join him while you run after and interrogate the poor Revered Mother,” Varric offers with a grin.

Cassandra purses her lips, “I had not thought to do such a thing at this moment, Varric. I reserve interrogations for selfish dwarves who do not share crucial information.”

“I’ve already told you—”

“Yes, you have. There is no point in arguing further. Do as you wish, but be cautious, and I will see you three back at camp.”

She marches off in the direction that Mother Hevara had gone and Elythia smiles as she knows Varric is right. Their Seeker of Truth is definitely going off to interrogate the woman.

“You’ve got a little something there, Princess.”

Varric points to his own eye and Elythia reaches up to touch her left cheek gingerly, wincing at the immediate pain.

“Allow me,” Solas insists, tilting her chin with one of his long fingers to view the red and already swollen skin around her eye where Mother Hevara had knocked into her when they’d fallen.

The touch, which to her feels like an intimate one as she has never been in such a position before, causes her to hold her breath. Her pulse quickens as he lifts his other hand and sweeps the back of his fingers gently along her upper cheek in an almost caress. Or perhaps she only wanted it to feel that way and he was merely healing her.

She looks over his shoulder, trying to find something to concentrate on as her senses leave her and she tries not to close her eyes and lean into his cooling touch. How embarrassing would that be, to show such feelings without knowing if they were returned? She swallows hard and chances a quick look at him.

His eyes, which she notices at this proximity are flecked with gold, flit between the bruise on her cheek and her eyes as his knuckles settle at her temple and his thumb strokes slowly over her skin again. She stares, entranced, still holding her breath. Her lungs scream for air but she’s afraid to breathe, to move at all. Even blinking seems impossible as he holds her captive with nothing more than a light touch and his eyes.

Varric fake coughs beside them with an added, “Ahem.”

Solas withdraws, taking a sudden step back and the moment is gone, broken at Varric’s insistence. She remains in the same position as she takes a small breath and the scent of herbs and campfire and earth fill her, still lingering in the space where he’d only just stood.

“Where are we going?” Elythia asks to fill the awkward silence between the three of them.

“Library,” Solas replies in a clipped voice and walks stiffly away from them.

“You and Chuckles, huh?” Varric probes in a hushed voice as they follow behind.

“No.”

“You didn’t see what I just saw.”

She presses her lips into a tight line and shakes her head at him. This is not something to discuss, despite the thought being on her mind for a few days now. Despite that shared moment. Despite that he’s the only person who has ever made her feel the way she does.

“I’m an idiot,” she groans aloud as she rubs her hands over her reddened face.

“You could do worse.”

She sighs, “I promised myself I wouldn’t get involved with anyone.”

He rubs his chin with a thoughtful look.

“You still plan to leave once the Breach is closed,” he states, guessing accurately.

Elythia nods, “And I don’t need the added complication.”

Varric stops outside of an open-faced structure filled with people eating and drinking and a woman in the back, stringing an instrument and singing softly. The white sign hanging on gold hinges outside of the building declares it the Le Masque du Lion Café.

“Don’t let the goal of getting home keep you from experiencing a potentially good thing, Princess. Missed opportunities of affection can burn as the hottest regrets,” he mutters as woman behind a hostess stand approaches them.

But she doesn’t hear their conversation as she watches Solas’s bald head disappear into the crowd and she considers Varric’s words of encouragement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Erelan's dalavur = Dreamer's leaf = what I've dubbed the herbal mixture that mages use to enter the Fade :P


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I veeeeeeeeeeeeeeeered.

Elythia paces back and forth in front of their campfire, worry etched upon her face. She crosses her arms and squeezes her shoulders tightly.

“He’s resourceful. He’ll be fine,” Varric assures her about Solas, who had yet to make his way back to camp.

She nods absently, but her stomach churns. Earlier in the day they had split up, leaving Solas to do his own thing while they dined at the café and then checked out the marketplace. She had ended up buying him a new shirt as she’d intended to, as well as a fur-lined jacket to make up for the thinness of the material since she had been unable to find another sweater shirt for him.

As the day had worn on, she and Varric had left the city to return to camp to find only Cassandra and their mounts. Elythia hadn’t been bothered at that point, but as night fell and Solas had still not shown up, she’d become riddled with anxiety.

They had told her vaguely what to expect on the way to Val Royeaux. The treatment of elves, the alienage and their curfew, the chevaliers who creep through the streets ready to kill any out past the appointed hour. What if he was caught? What if he was killed? Okay, he could handle himself, but what if he ran into a group and they overwhelmed him?

“We will find him in the morning if he has not shown up by then,” Cassandra promises to quiet her troubled mind.

Elythia sits on her bedroll, braiding and unbraiding the ends of her hair to give herself something to do other than worry. She’d thought about reading to occupy her mind, but the fire didn’t provide much in the way of light as Cassandra kept it low and she didn’t want to get too close lest she ruin the frail pages. What would reading accomplish anyway? She would likely not see the words written upon the pages as she instead stared through them and thought of only the horrible things that could be keeping Solas from their camp.

“Get some sleep, Princess,” Varric calls from his bedroll as he and Cassandra both had already readied themselves for sleep.

“I’ll try.”

She stays sitting, braiding her hair, watching the path they’d traveled earlier in the day for any sign of movement for a while longer. She really shouldn’t care so much that he isn’t here. He’s only a friend, nothing more. And he can take care of himself, as he’s proven more times that she can count.

At some point she turns her bedroll to face the path and lies down, her eyes still focused on where the city sits in the distance and her mind still troubled by his absence.

“Da’lin,” says a female voice in delight as Elythia’s eyes fly open to her forest.

She didn’t remember closing her eyes, but she must have.

She smiles at the dark haired woman, “Wisdom.”

But her thoughts and her worry catch up to her and her smile falters. She pushes herself off the rock and closes her eyes tightly as an idea forms in her mind. Her thoughts center on Solas – his eyes, his smile, his laugh, though rare it is. His scent and his voice and his mannerisms.

Wisdom makes a small sound of surprise and giggles, drawing her attention away from what she was attempting and she opens her eyes to see an image of the man facing her. She frowns at him, slightly frustrated with herself and inability to do what she had been trying for.

“That’s unfortunate,” she states to the spirit standing beside her, who gazes funnily at the Solas imitation.

“Was it your intention to summon his likeness?”

“I meant to try to enter his dreamstate, if he’s even here.”

Wisdom holds her finger up and cocks her head as if listening intently to something in the distance, her face a mask of concentration. Elythia waits patiently as the woman does whatever it is she’s doing and she wills the not-Solas away in a flurry of ashes. Wisdom’s face relaxes after a moment.

“Lethallin does not walk the Fade this night.”

A slight stab of sadness over the easy, familiar way Wisdom refers to Solas as ‘lethallin’ makes her brows knit in confusion and she wonders at the feeling. Jealousy? Perhaps, though why would she be? He hasn’t shown an interest in her in that way. At least not outright, if you don’t count the shared moment in the city where his fingers had lingered upon her cheek. Or, again, maybe she was just imagining things. 

_Stupid_ , she rebukes herself for both her wishful thinking and her unjustified jealousy.

“You can feel whether he’s here or not?” she inquires, realizing she’d been staring, likely angrily, at the poor woman.

“Yes,” Wisdom smiles with no indication of knowing her inner turmoil, “He is always… inviting.”

Her chest tightens as she remembers Solas telling her that he had not invited her in that night in the Hinterlands. So, he is happy to share his dreamstate with others, but not with her.

 _Stop it_.

But knowing such a thing makes her current involuntary attraction to him even more ridiculous. She nearly rolls her eyes at the whole situation. When did she turn into the pining, jealous fool?

“He hasn’t come back to camp and now he’s not in the Fade. I’m worried about him,” she confesses with a sigh, trying to rein in her frustration and… other unwanted emotions.

“He is a man of a great many skills, da’lin. He will endure through troubling times if they are upon him.”

“So everyone keeps saying. That doesn’t stop me from worrying. What if he was caught after curfew?”

“If you are troubled so, why not go after him?”

“I’ve thought about it, but I don’t know the city. I have no idea where to look or where to go. They consider me an elf. If _I_ get caught, I’m dead.”

“If it would comfort you, I welcome you to wait the night out with me here,” Wisdom offers, gesturing to their rock upon the river, “I am never lacking the desire of company and I enjoy yours.”

She’s shaking her head at the suggestion before Wisdom can even finish it. No, her fears shouldn’t matter in the face of someone else’s danger. She decides then that she’s going to wake Varric to go in search of Solas. Screw the waiting and forget the dangers – she’d just have to be extra cautious about not getting caught.

“I have to find him. I—” she stops as she feels a tug at the base of her skull, faint but there, “Something’s waking me up.”

She closes her eyes and follows the pull, jerking upright before she can stop herself as the sound of their campfire crackles beside her. Her head smacks into something solid and she groans, rubbing the spot before immediately reaching at her hip for the daggers that aren’t there. She’d put her belt in her pack before laying down.

“Augh! If you wanted to take my head off, there are better ways of doing it than headbutting, yeah?” complains a female voice from under a hooded cape.

“What?” Elythia asks in confusion, attempting to gather her senses and rubbing her head.

“Headbutts,” she giggles crazily as her back hits the ground and she literally rolls around laughing, “Like butts for heads just cracking together. See what I did there? Butts and cracks.”

“Who are you?” Cassandra growls from over top of the girl with her sword point at her throat and her sudden appearance gives Elythia time to pull her pack to her, but she doesn’t remove her daggers just yet.

Her laughter dies down slowly as she wipes her eyes and sits up, ignoring Cassandra’s sword.

“A friend. Well, _friends_. Of Red Jenny. That’s me. One, anyway. So is a fence in Montfort, a woman in Kirkwall, some brothers or something in Starkhaven,” she prattles, waving her hand about in the air.

“You talk too much and make little sense. Explain yourself more plainly,” Cassandra commands, her sword still held at her throat.

“Look, it’s like this: little people, ‘friends,’ get to be part of something while they stick it to the nobles they hate. So here, in your face, I’m Sera. Out there, I’m ‘The Friends of Red Jenny.’ I’m using them to help you. Plus arrows. Our group got wind there was a noble running ‘round the city looking for you. Got plans to mess with the Inquisition. They said I should look into it, yeah? So I did. Followed you out here, with your fire still burning. Good way to get caught, innit? Not snuffing out a fire in the middle of the night. You can see it for ages from the city—”

“Get. On. With. It.”

Sera huffs, “Got a Lord on the hunt for the Herald, looking to start a fight. He got your elfy guy, bald one, coming out the gates.”

“He did not fight them?” Cassandra interrogates with narrowed eyes.

“Pfft. Not even close. It was his plan to use himself as bait to get _her_ into the woods,” she tells them, thrusting her chin at Elythia.

She frowns looks to Cassandra, “Why would he do that?”

“A trade? He must know that we can easily take them on and has lured them away from the city to escape unwanted attention. I would have done the same.”

“You know, we may not be able to dream, but some of us do still enjoy our sleep,” Varric mutters from his bedroll and makes no attempt to move.

“Get up. We have things to deal with. And you,” Cassandra jabs her sword at Sera, “If you make one wrong move, I will have your head.”

Sera’s eyes light enthusiastically as she purrs, “You’re fierce and demanding. I think I’ll like you.”

Elythia bites her lip to keep in the laugh that bubbles up her throat as she takes in Cassandra’s flustered expression. She mumbles to herself as she sheathes her sword and dons her breastplate.

“So, you’re the Herald thingy, all glowing and shite? And an elf too. Just hope you’re not _too_ _elfy_ , like the others with their nonsense talk about old ways and ‘what we once were.’ If it were so good, it’d still be around, wouldn’t it? But I like who I am and doing what I do and I do it good, so piss on them.”

“I… wasn’t arguing?” Elythia tells her slowly, and in her current state it comes out as a question.

“Good. Because I’m right.”

She lifts a brow at the confusing girl.

 _What a weird one_ , she thinks as she places her belt around her hips and buckles it tightly. At least they know where Solas is now. And that he isn’t in immediate danger, which is relieving.

“So how do we do this?” Elythia asks, ready to go.

“They know where your camp is, as does everyone looking out their windows on this side of the city. Probably best to just wait it out and let them come to us. Can’t just go around screaming, ‘hey baddies!’ and expect them to answer. Or maybe you can. They don’t seem the smart type, you know? Idiots, the whole lot of them, and they paid for that education. Imagine that, paying that much to learn and then going and getting yourself killed because you let your kidnapper plan your kidnapping for you. Like, what are they teaching them? How to be stupid?” she laughs, another maniacal thing and Elythia can’t decide whether she wants to laugh along with her or just stare at her like she belongs in psych ward.

Her mouth opens to reply that they aren’t killing anyone, but she stops herself. Her jaw clenches, wanting to say the words but she refuses. The last time she’d decided people weren’t going to die, nearly everyone had died.

No hesitation. Should they attack.

“We remain here, then. Surely it will not take long for them to make contact,” Cassandra tells her as she drops down on her own bedroll.

Varric sighs, but sits up and rubs the sleep from his eyes.

No hesitation, should they attack.

She repeats it to herself as they wait.

And wait.

She rests her head upon her knees and is almost asleep as the sky begins to lighten and finally, thankfully, something happens. A rock is thrown into their camp, a note attached haphazardly. She yawns as she unties it and reads aloud:

“We have your elven apostate. Surrender the Herald and cease the Inquisition’s efforts against me or he dies.”

“Rich tits. Sometimes they _are_ as stupid as you think,” Sera declares with a smile as she jumps up, pulling a bow from her back and knocking an arrow.

She has a point, as it all seems a bit inexperienced. Which is perfect for trying to convince them to join the Inquisition instead! Perhaps they won’t have to kill anyone after all. A part of her sighs in relief.

“Maybe we don’t kill them?” Elythia suggests hopefully to Cassandra, “I mean, they obviously aren’t the brightest. If we can turn the situation around, it would be preferable. Besides, we need nobles to press the templars, right? He can be the first.”

“Perhaps,” she replies and disappears into the woods without another word.

“What? You want to want to let them live? They’re _baddies_ , as in _not_ goodies!” Sera exclaims in disbelief, her previous smile wiped from her face.

“We need the influence to get help with closing the Breach. If that means allying with bad people to get something good done, it’s sort of worth it.”

Sera makes a face at her, like _she’s_ the one talking crazily.

“You’re a right numpty, aren’t you? ‘Ally with bad people to get something good done,’” she mocks in a deep voice, “Know what that’s going to achieve? Getting _worse_ things done.”

“Do you have a better plan?”

“Yeah, just put an arrow in them.”

Elythia’s lips compress into a thin line, “No. I’m not going to kill people unnecessarily. If we can convince him that the Inquisition isn’t after him and get him on our side, I’m doing it.”

“And when it all goes tits-up, like these things do, I’ll be there to put an arrow in his face.”

“They’re waiting for an answer,” Varric interrupts them as he raises himself from his bedroll and pulls Bianca from his back, “And they still have Chuckles. So, if you two are finished bickering…”

“He has only four guards, which suggests he is a lowly noble. I doubt he would have the influence to readily help the Inquisition, even if you could turn him,” Cassandra notes as she joins them, reappearing from the forest.

“Then we convince him the Inquisition isn’t against him and he can persuade other nobles to join our cause and we still gain the influence needed,” Elythia offers optimistically.

Cassandra nods once and gives her a small smile, a thing that seems to almost hold pride within it, “Okay.”

“But what about the _actual plan_?” Sera interjects, annoyance plain on her face.

“I surrender.”

“What, so you just walk out with your hands up? That’s your plan? That’s a shite plan.”

“I walk cautiously in a direction that pulls their attention away from camp and pretend to surrender. I attempt to talk him down while you three circle around and flank in case everything goes ‘tits-up?’” she proposes readily, using Sera’s phrase, which earns a small smile from the girl but she rapidly sours.

“They even _breathe_ funny and—”

“Arrow to the face?” Varric guesses smoothly.

“Arrow to the face!” she laughs.

Elythia frowns and shakes her head at the two of them. She’ll have to keep an eye on Sera, who seems to be a loose cannon ready to explode on anyone at the slightest provocation with her easily flipped mood swings and thirst for blood.

No hesitation—should they attack.

She takes a deep breath and heads away from their camp, walking at an angle from the forest and toward the city. When she’s far enough that the noble’s attention should be focused on her and less on where her companions are slipping into the woods, she stops. She pretends not to see him from the corner of her eye and keeps at the same angle, inching toward them slowly. Before she throws her hands up in surrender, she grabs a pinch of the blue dust at her hip and holds it between her thumb and palm, hoping it’s enough should things go awry.

“I, Herald of Andraste, yield!” she screams into the trees.

“Aha! Do you hear that? The Herald surrenders to _me_!” a male voice exclaims triumphantly.

A short man steps from the brush lining the edge of the forest, dressed in his fancy clothing and a golden half mask. Four guards step out with him, two with swords pointed at Solas, who looks as calm as a bored housecat as he gazes at her with amusement.

“I came to bargain for my apostate,” she tells the noble as she walks within range of powder throwing and drops her now fisted hand in front of her, clasping her wrist.

“No, you came to surrender and have the Inquisition cease efforts to thwart me!”

“I assure you, the Inquisition has no such plans.”

“Lies! I am _too important_!”

She stops herself from rolling her eyes.

“Who are you, exactly?”

He gasps, his hand held to his chest in offense.

“You know already, as I have evidence of the Inquisition targeting me. You play stupid!”

“Look, I just want him,” she points at Solas, “and for us to strike a deal. One beneficial to the both of us.”

He flips his hand palm side up and summons a ball of fire as he considers her words. She catches Solas tense, an almost imperceptible movement, from the corner of her eye, but neither of them make a move.

“What deal do you propose to Piero?”

“A chance to be a hero. The Inquisition needs to rally the nobles of Orlais to get the templars to help close the Breach. Imagine if everyone knew that _you_ were the one who started the movement that led the templars back to Val Royeaux after closing it. You’d get credit for both.”

He taps his chin in thought, “And if I kill you here and now and then do so anyway? Would I not be more of a hero?”

“I doubt the Inquisition would work with you if that were the case, and without the Inquisition, you lose the templars. It’s a delicate balance.”

“And him?” he asks, pointing a fiery finger at Solas, “Why is he so important that you would risk yourself against me?”

Elythia looks at him, saying the first thing that comes to her mind – a thing to regret later.

“He’s my lover.”

She chances a glance Solas’s way to find his amusement dropped in lieu of shock, his eyebrows lifted high, which is swiftly replaced before anyone can notice. Heat blossoms upon her cheeks, but she keeps her head held high.

“A knife-eared lover,” he scoffs, “He can easily be replaced.”

Piero lifts his hand toward Solas and her heart races, pumping with adrenaline for the oncoming fight. 

“Please! I wouldn’t do that,” she warns him ahead of time, her voice pleading in her attempt to save the idiotic man from himself.

He smiles cruelly and hurls his fire at Solas, but nothing happens as it bounces off his barrier and winks out before it hits the ground. Solas lifts a brow in challenge at the man, who stomps his foot and orders his guards to attack.

But two are dead before they can even lift their swords as arrows hit their marks. Cassandra steps out and takes another down with her sword. The fourth guard attempts to run, leaving the noble behind, but doesn’t make it far as an arrow slices through the back of his head and he falls to the ground.

“We tried it your way Herald, and now we do it mine,” Sera tells her as she exits the woods, an arrow knocked and ready to fly as she points it at Piero and says, “Just say ‘what.’”

“Sera, no!” Elythia interrupts the man before he can say the word and she can loose her arrow.

She quickly brings her fisted hand to her mouth and opens it, blowing the shimmering blue sleeping powder into his face. He sways for a moment and then collapses to the ground in an unconscious heap.

“He was about to say ‘what,’” Sera grumbles loudly, nudging the unconscious man’s arm angrily with her boot.

“You can’t just go around killing everyone,” she snaps, wiping the remnants of the powder on her pants.

“Bad things should happen to bad people,” the girl argues, “We find someone not so bad, maybe they’ll end up not so dead. But this guy? Shitebag who deserves to die.”

Elythia bends to bind the man’s wrists with the rope Cassandra hands her. When she doesn’t answer Sera, she huffs off in annoyance. She hasn’t officially asked to be part of the Inquisition yet, but Elythia knows it’s coming and she’s almost inclined to ask Cassandra to deny her request. She won’t, she knows, but the desire is there nonetheless.

Solas kneels beside her and pulls on the rope to test the stability of her bonds. Satisfied with her handiwork, he rocks back on his heels and gazes at her.

“I’m told it was your idea to lure me out here,” she says to break the silence.

“Yes. He was quite determined to reach the Inquisition. I figured, why not use him? I am glad to see you had the same thought process.”

“It’s a good idea,” she admits, but then grimaces, “Well, using him is. Knocking him out and tying him up—probably not so much. What happens if he doesn’t agree to help?”

“We kill him,” Sera offers, butting into their conversation.

“I’m not going to kill him,” she tells her, irritation clear in her tone.

“We may have to,” Varric interjects softly with an apologetic look.

 _It’ll never end_ , her mind whispers. All the death and the killing in this world, it’ll just keep happening. She’d tried to numb herself to it all, and for the most part she had managed to not feel upset anymore. But this is different. Deliberately killing people because they won’t help them? Her blood boils at the thought.

“You know what?” Elythia begins as she rises to her feet with anger in her chest and looks at each of them, her eyes resting on Sera, “Do what whatever you want. You want to kill him? I can’t stop you. And I’m _so tired_ of trying to stop everyone from killing everyone else.”

She turns from them as the first hot, angry tear slips down her cheek and marches away, back to their camp. Of course, she was bluffing when she told them to do whatever they wanted. Hopefully, they don’t actually kill the man. But her lack of sleep and stress from the night have caught up with her and all she really wants in that moment is to curl into a ball and sleep for a whole day.

She settles for stretching out upon her bedroll instead, laying her head in the crook of her arm as she turns it in the opposite direction of the people she’d walked away from. Her eyes shut against the dawning light of the morning and sleep finds her quickly.

.x.

“How?” Elythia asks angrily as she wakes again in her forest.

Wisdom says nothing as she walks the bank of the river, waiting patiently for her to elaborate.

“How am I able to come here without trying but I can’t enter the regular Fade or whatever when I actually _am trying_? I don’t understand any of this!”

“Regular Fade? This is the ‘regular Fade,’ da’lin.”

Her brows knit together, “You said this was a forest of comfort.”

“It is, for you. A beloved place that brings you peace. Your mind, I imagine, is pulling you here immediately to soothe you. You are connected to it.”

She frowns.

“How—” she loses her words as the air beside Wisdom distorts, swirling in on itself.

The spirit turns and smiles as a familiar face appears and Solas steps from the warped air, from nothingness. She suppresses a smile and shushes her fast beating heart at his unexpected arrival.

“Apologies, I did not mean to interrupt or intrude. I—” he stops as he takes in her forest, his shoulders going rigid as he whispers, “Impossible.”

“I thought so too, lethallin, but she is quite clearly here,” Wisdom tells him as they stare at Elythia, both with fascination, though Solas looks more confused.

“Care to explain?” she asks them as she scrunches her face at their staring.

Solas takes a step toward her as the ground distorts and three chairs appear, facing each other. He takes a seat and offers the other two to her and Wisdom, who plops to the ground instead and sticks her feet into the river beside them. He and the woman share a secret smile and he waves the third chair away. They look to Elythia, waiting for her to sit.

“This forest,” Solas starts as she folds her leg under her and sits across from him, “How do you know it?”

She shakes her head, “I don’t. I just keep ending up here.”

His forehead creases and the corner of his mouth pulls downward in a frown as he regards her and her words.

“This place is… old, and mostly forgotten. As you are not from this world, you should not be able to call it forth, yet here we sit. It is extraordinary, to say the least. Tell me, how do you feel?”

She blushes at his intense, inquiring gaze. Comforted and at ease comes to her mind at his question, but it doesn’t really do the feeling justice. There is something deeper, lurking in the recesses of her emotions and she digs for it.

This place sings to her, she realizes, as she lets herself feel everything. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Her lungs fill with the smell of the earth around her and her every muscle relaxes as she slacks in her chair. She lets the song run through her, humming and dancing along her skin.

Her eyes pop open as the answer floats to the tip of her tongue.

“Emma vhenas,” she whispers, the elven words surprising her as they leave her mouth.

She and Solas stare at each other, both in shock, though he recovers quickly.

“Are you aware of the words you have just spoken?” he asks intrigued, leaning toward her.

Elythia swallows and shakes her head.

“You have declared that you are where your ‘heart is,’ that you are _home_.”

She bites her lip and looks away, to her trees and her river and her rock. Yes, that is the most accurate feeling for this place and the word she had been searching for:

Home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super duper tired, so if there are quite a few mistakes, whoops. I'll take care of them later. :P 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! And don't worry, she and Sera will get along eventually. xD 
> 
> Also, I *may* cut the chapters to 2k words, which won't take away from what I'm writing, but will mean more chapters posted per week likely. Haven't decided yet, so we'll see.
> 
> ** "Emma vhenas" = I am home/place where the heart is


	11. And So It Begins

“Have you explored yet?” Solas asks as he stands, taking a few steps, and gazes longingly down the river toward the waterfall.

“No,” she admits in embarrassment, joining him at his side with a slight blush tinting her cheeks.

How boring does that make her sound? The ability to travel through dreams and see everything and yet she’d only spent time with Wisdom in this same spot each time she was here.

“We have enjoyed the river,” Wisdom tells him, trailing a hand through the water to make her point.

“I think I was too distressed to do much else when I was here besides try to relax and let the feelings melt away.”

But she knows she’s lying, even if only slightly. Truth is, she hadn’t really wanted to explore. She had been content to stare mindlessly into the canopy of trees around them and contemplate what her life had become.

Or not, during those occasions where the forest had made her feel more at peace and she’d refused to think of the deaths and killings that she had caused or committed. Yes, it is easy to forget when the trees whisper quietly of serenity and the river of an inner calmness that she’d felt she had been lacking since coming to Thedas.

Solas exhales, the sound a wistful hum, “This memory does not do it justice, at any rate. To have seen it in the flesh—I wager it would have been an exquisite sight to behold.”

“You say ‘this’ memory… What do you mean?”

His eyes spark, pleased with her having caught his wording, “I mean that _this_ is just an impression set in place by the spirits around us. If you dispel them, we would be standing where you entered the Fade. I believe the best way to describe it would be a memory within a memory.”

“But how? I don’t know this place and this is _my_ dreamstate, right? So, how am I creating it with a memory I don’t have?”

“That,” he drawls with a gleam in his gaze, “is a question whose answer is currently eluding me.”

She smiles coyly and teases, “The man whose knowledge of the Fade is vast has no answer for such a simple question?”

Solas turns to face her, so sudden and so close that she almost takes a step back. She doesn’t, standing her ground instead. Never in her life had she been so flirtatious with anyone, let alone someone she’s attracted to, and the rush from doing so makes her want more.

“‘Vast knowledge,’” he says with a lifted brow, and a small, mischievous grin, “does not mean I know everything, _da’lin_.”

Her eyes narrow and she compresses her lips in mock displeasure, but her insides scream in delight. She crosses her arms to bait him.

“And simple,” he shakes his head, tutting as he lets his eyes roam over her, landing on her crossed arms, and he begins to circle her, “That is not how I would describe such a question.”

Her eyes follow him until he rounds her backside. He stops at her shoulder and she knows that if she leaned back… just a little…

Her gaze snaps forward.

 _No_ , she tells herself with a frown. What is she doing? Sure, she had considered Varric’s words, but ultimately, she’d decided against it. When all is said and done, she still plans to return to her world, right?

But the more she thinks about it, the more she wonders, what does it really hold for her? Old pains and no friends or family. Money, but what good is that in a world where she has no one to share it with? Technologies that would come handy in this world, but even without them everything is surprisingly manageable.

So nothing then. Nothing but familiarity in the end. And the memory of her mother and father… But if Solas is correct and her mother is actually from this world, then this world should also hold the memory of her—

“But if you believe it so simple…” his words interrupt her thoughts and his breath tickles her ear, causing goosebumps to dance along her skin, “Sathan, da’lin, share your hypothesis with me.”

“Stop calling me that,” she mutters quietly as the corner of her mouth twitches and her stomach flips.

She’s happy her voice betrays neither her inner turmoil nor the excitement he causes. Her flushed face, on the other hand, is ever traitorous in its efforts to reveal her feelings.

“Your theory?” he encourages, continuing his walk around until he’s in front of her once more, straightening his wide, lean shoulders as he snakes his arms behind him and stands tall, waiting.

She shrugs, feigning calmness, “Maybe it isn’t me at all. Wisdom has been here every time I’ve managed to come here.”

“Lethallan?” he asks to grab the spirit’s attention, but his gaze remains on hers in challenge, “Are you influencing the Fade and withholding the information?”

“You ask that like I’m blaming her,” Elythia accuses him with a scowl and turns to the woman, “And I’m _not_. It’s just a guess.”

“Do not fret, as I take no offense, da’lin. And no, I am decidedly not manipulating anything. Although, perhaps I should be,” she says with a pointed look at Solas, who frowns at her and steps away from Elythia to begin a slow walk along the river.

“It could potentially be the mark. We know little in the way of how much it truly affects you,” Solas says as he turns back toward her with a quick glance at her left hand.

“If it’s the mark, doesn’t that mean it’s… alive somehow? To have the memory, I mean—”

A tug begins at the base of her neck. A look of surprise flits across Solas’s face at her words and before either can say any more, the insistent thing _yanks_ at her, almost painfully. She frowns and follows it.

A blonde elf with choppy hair sits beside her, poking her in the cheek.

“You’re red. I thought it best to wake you before you look like you’ve turned into a rage demon. You’re welcome. Should probably get out of the sun, yeah?” she says with another poke to her cheek, eliciting a pain-filled hiss from Elythia, who jerks away from her.

She sits up and inspects her body, which is mildly sunburnt on the exposed areas from laying too long in one position under the sun. She should have known better, but she had been too upset and too tired to think about it when she had flopped onto her bedroll hours before. Sometimes, being a redhead _sucks_.

“How bad is my face?” she asks Sera, knowing it has to be pretty bad as the skin feels tight and quite possibly swollen.

“You’re redder than your hair almost. Bet it hurts something fierce,” she replies, reaching another finger out to poke her.

Elythia bats her hand away in irritation. She’s like the annoying, blood thirsty younger sister no one ever asked for.

“Stop trying to poke it. Where’s Varric and Cassandra?”

“The dwarf disappeared, don’t know where to and the Seeker went to market. She said something about salve. Better that, probably, than having baldy over there heal you repeatedly with his magic.”

“I don’t mind letting him healing me,” she tells her with a smirk, watching as Sera shudders.

“Ew. Just ew.”

Elythia looks around their camp for Piero, her smile faltering as she realizes he isn’t there. Her chest constricts the tiniest bit as she turns back to her.

“Did you kill him, then?” she questions in a hushed voice.

“What, the noble? Can’t believe you’re still on that and _no_. Seeker wouldn’t let me. That one’s… Rrrrr,” Sera says, raising her eyebrows and rolling the ‘r’ on her tongue to make an almost purring sound.

Elythia shakes her head with a suppressed smile and a mental note to thank Cassandra, “Where is he?”

She hooks a thumb toward the woods where a pair of fancily-clad legs stick out from behind a tree. Pushing herself up gingerly to avoid irritating her sunburn, Elythia heads toward their kidnapped noble.

The area around the tree he’s propped on shimmers as she nears it and changes drastically. Her mark dulls considerably, dimming to almost non-existent and the air feels thick and slow. She grimaces at the feeling, like trying to fight through mud that isn’t there.

“What is this?” she asks, revolted by the overall feeling of wrongness.

“Your elf drew something in the dirt to keep pissbag here from using his magic.”

“Not _my_ elf,” she mutters under her breath, a blush forming under her sunburn.

“Neutralization glyph,” Solas’s smooth, silvery voice informs her from behind them.

Her shoulders tense and she half-hopes he hadn’t heard her. He eases his way toward them and rubs his foot over the ground deliberately. The heaviness in the air eases, enough to feel less like mud, but still heavy.

She squats and pulls the gag from Piero’s mouth.

“I apologize about your guards. It wasn’t my intention to kill them, nor is it my intention to kill you. We need your help,” she tells the nobleman gently.

“Help you? After all you have done? I will not,” he spits at her.

“If you don’t help, they kill you. I don’t want to see you die.”

He stiffens at her words, staring at her in hatred. The urge to shake sense into him is strong as she gazes at the stubborn set of his jaw. He acts as though his life isn’t worth bargaining for and the thought disturbs her.

“My offer still stands. You help the Inquisition and you can have credit for everything,” she offers him again.

“I have set in motion events that will weaken the Inquisition. Piero will have his victory!”

She rolls her eyes at his stupidity and buries her face in her hands, immediately regretting it as they collide with swollen, tender skin. Another hiss escapes her and Piero laughs at her pain. Sera picks his gag up and shoves it back in place, tying the cloth at his mouth tightly and giving it an extra tug.

“I just want to help you live,” she mutters desperately with a sigh as she stands and paces in front of him with her arms crossed loosely.

How can someone be so reluctant to comply when their _life_ is on the line? If the shoe were on the other foot and she were being offered to help the Inquisition or be killed, she’s pretty sure she’d help. The only reason she wouldn’t—

“Piero, I have a new offer,” she tells him excitedly.

The man looks at her with narrowed brown eyes as she squats back down to be at eye level with him. She pulls his gag back out to be met with a deep frown and pursed lips.

“What is it with you and this jackhole? Why don’t you just offer to let him lead the Inquisition too, yeah?” Sera pipes in sharply.

“I have a theory,” she replies with a quick shooing of her hand at the girl to tell her to butt out and turns back to the man, “You’re a noble, but lowly, as Cassandra pointed out. You clearly have no intention of living since you aren’t bothering to even _pretend_ to help so that you might escape. You want to die.”

He turns his reddened face away from her and stares angrily into the woods and she takes that as confirmation that she’s on the right trail so she continues.

“If you wanted to die so badly though, you could have just offed yourself instead of trying to get the Inquisition do it. No, someone has tasked you with dying in order to hold the Inquisition accountable. I’m guessing they’ve threatened someone you love.”

Piero doesn’t answer as he turns his head back to glower silently at her. But his jaw clenches beneath his half mask.

“Why not just kill him themselves and blame the Inquisition? No one would even know,” Sera huffs.

Elythia holds her glowing hand in the air, wiggling her fingers, at the same time Solas imparts with clarity, “They are ignorant of her mark and its capabilities.”

She nods, “My thoughts, exactly. They want _me_ to do it, not just anyone from the Inquisition. They aren’t sure what I can do. This is a test.”

“Just kill me and have done with it already,” the man hisses, his air of haughtiness broken.

“No. I told you I had another offer: the Inquisition will help _you_. I’m offering to retrieve whoever it is that you’ve done this for. In return, you can join the Inquisition and aid us in gathering the favor of the nobles so we can pressure the templars to help close the Breach.”

He sighs defeatedly, his head hanging, “I cannot accept, even if I wanted to. I don’t know who has him, nor do I know where he is.”

“Then we investigate.”

“There is no time. The deal was to expose you by midnight tonight. Please, just kill me!” he begs eagerly and her heart aches for him.

She reaches out and gives his hand a squeeze, “There’s still time. If you know _anything_ that could help, we can still do this.”

He shakes his head helplessly, “They wore armor of Tevinter origins, bearing their heraldry. That is all I can tell you because it is all that I know.”

“It’s a start and we can look into it.”

Elythia stands and walks from the woods, motioning for Sera to follow. She does so reluctantly, her shoulders drooped and feet dragging. Solas follows also, stopping with them as Elythia rounds on Sera.

“Do either of you know how common it is for someone wearing Tevinter armor to be in Orlais?” she asks, looking between the two.

Solas answers first, “Not very likely, I imagine, as relations are strained by the Chantry and their treatment of the mages, and magic in general. If someone from the Imperium were in Orlais, such information should be easy enough to obtain.”

“Would you or your ‘friends’ be able to find out any information about any of this?” she asks Sera, who looks at her with barely concealed disgust.

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she marches toward Piero and drops down to hiss at him. The man flinches away from her but replies to whatever it is she asks him. When she returns to Elythia, she looks less disgusted, but still thoroughly angry at the entire situation.

“Fine. But I want you to know, his lover is a servant. I’m doing this for him. Not for you and not for shitebag over there. I’ll see what I can find.”

Elythia mutters a thank you as Sera stomps off in the direction of the city, leaving her and Solas alone.

“Do you think we can trust her?”

Solas stops tapping the finger at his mouth and turns to her.

“I think she is determined to ‘save the little people’ enough to gather what particulars we may need in order to successfully retrieve his person,” he says, holding his hands out for her.

She places her small fingers in his but he runs his hands past them instead, the sensation sending goosebumps along her arms and pricking at her sunburn, causing her to wince as he turns her arms over. He rubs gentle circles over the area with his thumb, nothing happening except a slight tingle that she feels has more to do with the fact that he’s lightly stroking the sensitive skin on the insides of her wrists. She lifts a brow in question.

“The redness will remain, as will some of the discoloration upon your cheek, until your skin has had time to heal itself. The pain should be non-existent, however.”

Closing her eyes, she revels in the feeling of him brushing his thumbs over her wrists. She convinces herself she’d do so with anyone willing to touch her in such a way, as she finds she enjoys the light brushing of skin on skin. It has nothing to do with the attractive elven man standing in front of her.

None, whatsoever.

 _Liar_.

As he continues his feathery massage, she imagines what it would feel like to have his pleasantly warm, long fingers skimming the rest of her body. Trailing up her arms and over her shoulders, down her bare back and—

 _Nope_. Her eyes pop open again as she nearly wrenches her arms from his grasp.

He releases her at that moment, almost as though he’d read her mind and found her thoughts off-putting. A quick glance at him shows nothing of the sort. But then, his ever present mask of impassivity makes it hard to tell exactly where his thinking lies in regard to her or, well, anything really.

She clears her throat, looking at anything but him, “We should probably load up.”

With that, she turns to put away their bedrolls and packs.

.x.

Without a watch, it’s hard to gauge just how much time passes while she and Solas wait for the others to return. Awkwardness had hung in the air, or perhaps she was just imagining it. She refused to acknowledge it either way, or Solas, for that matter. She was becoming restless when finally Cassandra’s form appeared on the path from the city, another woman accompanying her.

“The Grand Enchanter,” Solas informs her, his voice lit with surprise as they gather nearer.

She knows the title, thanks to studying and talking with her companions. The Grand Enchanter. Mage. Leader of the Rebellion. Exactly the person she needs to talk to in order to get the mages to help seal the Breach. And Cassandra was delivering the woman right to her.

“The fabled Herald of Andraste,” the woman says as she and Cassandra are near enough to talk, “I heard of the gathering yesterday and meant to catch you then, but was withheld. I’m glad you remained and I was able to catch you.”

Her armored robe swishes as she comes to a stop before Elythia, who holds her hand out in offering.

“Elythia, please,” she tells her with a quick shake of her hand.

“Fiona. I came to persuade you to look to my people, if it is help with the Breach you seek. They are the wiser option, I believe.”

 _Perhaps_ , Elythia thinks but doesn’t say aloud to the woman. Her plan still remains to gather both.

She smiles, “The mages will help then?”

“We are willing to discuss it with the Inquisition.”

Which isn’t a yes. Elythia holds in a sigh. These people are always running circles around the problem. They make her want to scream, ‘There’s a hole in the sky! What’s your problem?!’ But she keeps it to herself.

How could all these people sit back and do nothing while the Breach remains, dropping demons from rifts and attempting to swallow the sky whole? They’re too busy fighting their wars or spewing their petty words to take care of the important stuff. The stuff that, if it isn’t taken care of, will make their wars irrelevant when every last one of them – _us_ , her mind immediately corrects – disappear in a green mist and slew of demons.

Her smile tightens, “I’m assuming an alliance won’t be made today, then?”

“You are correct. I merely came to see you with my own eyes, to see what you are, before offering to speak with you. And I’ve now seen the Chantry for what it is, as well. Consider this an invitation to Redcliffe to come meet with the mages. I believe an alliance could help us both, after all.”

Elythia nods, “We’ll see you in a couple weeks.”

Her eyes narrow but she gives her a smile and a single, curt nod, “My lady Herald.”

Elythia catches the Seeker up on their plan and where Sera is as Fiona departs with a mutter about attending business in the city before returning to Redcliffe. Cassandra scowls at Piero unhappily.

“I do not like it, but as you have already set a plan in motion, we will see it through,” she tells her, not bothering to conceal her disapproving frown.

“We need the nobles. This is our best shot right now, and I don’t want to kill him.”

“I know. I did not say it was a bad plan, just that I do not like it.”

With nothing else to do, Elythia sets about pulling her books from her saddlebag to read while they wait for Sera. She hopes Solas is correct in his assessment of the girl and that she does, in fact, return with good news, ready to help his ‘servant lover.’

Servant. The word runs through her as she stares blankly at her page. She hadn’t seen any, per se, during her rounds about the market. Although, honestly, she hadn’t really been looking. Between studying her books and talking with her party, though, she knew what to expect.

Elves, she’d been told – locked away in the alienage at night and serving those in power during the day for simple meals that just weren’t enough – made up the servant population. She had frowned during the entire conversation revolving around their treatment. Not because she’s possibly of elven origins, as she has no real connection there, but because no one should be treated in such a way.

Solas had been quiet during that conversation in a way that suggested observing her reaction meant more than giving his own opinion on the matter. And observe her he did, his piercing gaze boring into hers as she had continued to frown at all she was told by the others as they sat and shared their lunch.

Too worried to actually read anything, Elythia sighs and gives up, snapping the book closed and putting it away. Sera had been gone for hours and they were starting to lose daylight.

She had paced back and forth so much by the time Sera’s blonde head appeared in the distance that she’d stomped down a small path in front of their camp. The petite blonde bends over from her run, catching her breath as she stops in front of Elythia.

“Found them,” she pants and holds up two fingers, “Two hours. Courtyard. In the city.”

They wait, some more patiently that others, for her to be able to speak without the nonsense. Elythia sees Cassandra frown and start to open her mouth when Sera beats her to the punch.

“There’s a courtyard on the other side of the city. Takes about two hours to get to from here, maybe one if we run it. There are five Tevinters, three Orlesians. They were meeting with someone, don’t know who. They had an elf, dressed like a servant, but he wasn’t bound. Looked like he was with them. I found your dwarf and told him what was happening. Left him and a Friend to keep watch on them.”

“His lover is with the guys threatening his life? You’re sure?” Elythia asks quietly.

“Like I said, wasn’t bound. He was standing close to one of them, chirping in. He was definitely not being held there against his will.”

She exhales harshly and runs her hands through her hair. This just keep getting better and better. They have to get Piero out of here, for his own safety.

 _Fu-la-la-la-la-luck_ , her mind screams in lieu of a curse word.

“Should we just get Varric and go? Take Piero with us, of course.”

Cassandra nods, “We shouldn’t stay for a fight, not in the city. I think leaving is the best course of action at this moment. If we can, even drawing them away would be better.”

“Right. Sera? Care to run again?” Elythia asks with an apologetic smile, but the girl is already nodding and turning to leave.

 _This_ , she thinks for the first time since arriving, _would be the perfect time for modern technology_ , wishing cellphones were a thing in this world.

.x.

Elythia isn’t sure where everything went wrong. Well, actually, it all went wrong while she slept. Sera had retrieved Varric and they had made it safely back to their camp with enemies none the wiser. They had promptly left, taking the Imperial Highway with Piero and Sera in tow.

There wasn’t enough room for everyone on the two horses they had so she had insisted Sera, who had run back and forth and was likely tired, and Piero take her spot on the horse. She would jog, she’d decided, keeping up with their trotting. She needed only to have Solas use his magic every so often, until the sun had set completely and blackness surrounded them as they raced toward the Storm Coast. Sera had crinkled her nose disgust every time she and Solas touched hands so that he could ease his cleansing aura over her to calm her wracked nerves.

Piero had not been happy when they’d told him the new plan and why. In fact, he’d been downright nasty in his tantrum, insisting that there’s no way his lover had betrayed him. Elythia had read books before that had touched her on such an emotional level, but that feels incomparable to the mess he’d turned into in front of them all. She sympathized in her own way.

It was early morning when they’d finally stopped to rest and it had all gone down the toilet. She had lain in the middle of the Imperial Highway to rest after jogging and walking for the entire night, her eyes immediately falling closed as she had laid back. There was no way to tell how long she had been asleep when the sounds of fighting woke her.

She was just sitting up to rub the sleep from her eyes and see what was going on when a blast of magic slapped her back to the stone beneath her and she cracked her head. The force of the hit had her staring in shock at the orange-blue sky, trying to collect herself to get back up.

When she did, she found Cassandra forcing someone back with her shield, the fortress of a woman pushing them carefully to block incoming shots. Varric and Sera shoot arrows from either side of Solas, who moves quickly to the foot of her bedroll, his body acting like a barrier. His actual barrier, she notices, is in place over Cassandra. Piero is nowhere to be seen as she glances around.

Another blast of air gusts at them, pushing Solas back a little and sending the horses rearing and scuttling. They take off down the highway before Elythia can gather herself to catch them and pull her daggers from her pack.

She is weaponless and at least one of the people on the opposite side has magic. To say she’s scared is a bit of an understatement. Her heart pounds heavily as she finally gets to her feet and a wave of nausea and dizziness washes over her from her cracked head. She reaches out, her hand landing on Solas’s shoulder as she attempts to keep herself from sinking to the ground.

“Stay behind me,” he orders, whipping his staff expertly through the air and blasting an armored man in the back of the other group with a ball of green energy that sends him flying backward and thumping onto the stone highway.

She does as commanded and watches from around his shoulder as Cassandra cuts down the man she had been pushing back with her shield and turns to the next. There are four men left standing, five if you count the one in the back that Solas had knocked down who tries to get back to his feet.

Sera’s and Varric’s arrows glance off barriers, but they keep pelting them. Breaking the barriers down, Elythia assumes as she watches Cassandra’s sword glace off of one of the men and he turns to her to strike with his own sword. But nothing happens as Solas’s shimmering blue barrier holds from the assault.

“Left, back,” Varric calls as he and Sera both aim for the man he’d called out and one of their arrows connects, hitting the man in the neck. He falls, his mouth open in shock.

Cassandra rushes at the same moment Solas, Varric, and Sera all three send their attacks at the men. Two fall to arrows and Elythia wonders at the third, who hits his knees, his mouth agape in a silent scream. A chill runs down her spine as she realizes it was whatever spell Solas had sent his way. What a very contradictory thing to see from one who’d done nothing but protect her and treat her gently since she’d arrived in Thedas. The fourth guy tries to flee with nowhere to go but the Waking Sea and Cassandra chases him down, slamming her shield into him and knocking him unconscious.

A cool breeze sweeps through her body at the same time she feels a hand on hers. She blushes as she realizes she’d wrapped her hand around Solas’s side to grasp the cloth at the left side of his chest in some weird half-hug, the front of her body pressed to his back.

“Sorry,” she mutters as she peels herself from him but leaves her hand to linger as he lets his aura remove her anxiety, which she hadn’t even known had been building until he had touched her hand.

“It is no bother,” he tells her absently, grazing her knuckles and watching Cassandra bind the unconscious man in front of them.

Without him to lean on, her dizziness returns and she lays her head on the back of his arm and opens her fisted hand, splaying it against his chest, essentially hugging him once more to keep herself upright. She feels his body go rigid under her palm but can’t bring herself to detach from him as she sways from the rush.

His magic swells inside her, she knows, but her dizziness doesn’t dissipate.

“Something’s wrong,” she whispers as her knees begin to shake from the effort of standing.

Solas lifts his arm and turns just in time to catch her as she slinks forward into his chest. Everything tilts precariously and her vision begins to dim. The last thing she sees is Solas’s lips moving quickly as he shouts words she can’t hear and then the darkness consumes her.

.x.

_“You did not tell her of this place,” says the spirit of wisdom questioningly as she looks to the elven man._

_“No, I did not,” he replies quietly, turning to the woman with a serious face, “Nor will I, unless she asks. Even then, dependent on circumstances, I may not tell her. She remains a mystery to me, lethallan. I know not what to make of her yet, except to say that she changes things.”_

_The woman lays her hand upon his shoulder with a light squeeze, “Change is good, oftentimes. You have spoken of it rather frequently as of late. Perhaps you should embrace it?”_

_“Embrace it,” he snorts gracelessly, “You mean embrace **her**. I care little for your roundabout conversation regarding her. It cannot and will not happen.”_

_“Dear one, the path you walk is a long and lonely one—I seek only to encourage that which would lessen the suffering you feel you must endure.”_

_He shakes his head stubbornly, “It is a necessary hardship, one I have brought upon myself and have accepted long ago. She would but bear the burden of my mistakes, withering away beneath the darkness of my misfortunes.”_

_“You would take away her choice in the matter? I saw the way she looked at you; she is a curious one, indeed. I would bet, even, she could become the balm to an aching soul, should one be in need. Keep that in mind.”_

_The elven man frowns at his long-time friend, “I would not take her choice away, as I would not present her with one to begin with.”_

_“Oh, lethallin,” she sighs knowingly, “You already have and she has accepted.”_

_She smiles gently, for she had witnessed that which he refuses to acknowledge._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **"Sathan, da'lin" = "Please, little one/child"
> 
> Also, after reading a buuunch of stuffs, I've decided to use "lethallin" as a gender neutral term, same as "da'lin"-- it's hard to tell from all the opinions, but in short: an for feminine, en for masculine, in for neutral? That's what I've gathered on the matter after reading everything, so I'm sticking with it. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it. If not, tell me all about it...? xD  
> I'm always so tempted to just get on with the sexy scenes and then have to remind myself to rein it in *eyeroll* and refrain. It's a constant inner hassle.
> 
> If anyone's wondering when to expect those, I warn you: it likely won't be until after they reach Skyhold. Amsssorrrry! Lol. Just attempting to set up the feels now. And eventually, Elythia will stop being such a blusher, guys. You'll get to thank Bull for that one ;D (Not in that way! O.O She's strictly a Solas gal!)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried a thing... You'll see.  
> xD

_It claws and bites at the walls of her mind, shredding at the stones she has erected to protect herself, but nothing happens. For each mark it tears into the surface of her wall, she adds another stone, fortifying it. She tells herself that she will not let it come in, no matter how much it howls._

_But it is relentless in its pursuit to wear her down over the years. She hums to block out the growling outside of her shadowy tower, rocking in the middle of the room to console herself. But she cannot stop the trepidation sneaking quietly into her bones that eventually she will crumble to the beast trying to gnaw its way in._

_Just as she is nearly ready to give in, a hush settles in her mind and darkness devours everything. She grins, thankful to finally be done, as she spreads her arms wide and falls into nothingness._

.x.

_Fumbling and flipping but floating freely within the Fade. No, not-Fade. The Fade before the Fade was the Fade, but not. Her feet hit the ground hard, her harrowed body sprawling haphazardly upon the hard, pebbled path outside an enormous, elegant entrance. A vicious vacuum pulls vigorously at her, drawing her toward a vacant black city._

_“Don’t follow it,” says a voice heard before. Once upon a dream, perhaps?_

_Once upon a dream… A dream._

_This is a dream. But not?_

_Pondering, pulling, and pushed, it wants her to come, to pander to its whims of false fun and fancy with a promised sense of freedom beyond that of her mortal body._

_She takes a step._

**_Yesssss_** , _it hisses._

_“Do not follow it,” the voice says again, closer to her this time._

But the possibilities _…_

_“It lies, laying in wait in its labyrinth for you to lose yourself in a city lacking life so that you might live with it for eternity. Leave this lonely place. Do not follow it.”_

**_Come_ ** _, it begs, bombarding her mind with beguiling images of blatant lies as it awaits with bated breath for her to obey._

_She obliges with another step._

_“He waits and wishes for you to wake before your mind withers in this worn place. ‘Do not follow it, da’lin,’ he would whisper were he able to break the walls of your willful mind barriers,” that voice tells her in haste as she starts to take another step._

_She stops._

_That word, that wretched word said in another’s voice—the voice that echoes in her mind. That lovely, lilting, voice that makes her heart leap like a stone rippling across a still lake._

_What is his name? She can’t recall._

_But his face, beautiful with its sharp angles, burns brightly in the back of her mind, and tells her to back briskly away._

_She retreats a step._

_The city growls, growing larger in its goal to goad her through its great, wide gates._

_An almost perfect portrayal of the breathtaking man appears before the passage, his features illuminated preciously in his pale face as he gazes peculiarly at her._

**_Come_ ** _, he whispers, his hand stretching, asking, begging, baiting. Waiting._

_But wrong._

_His voice is not that silvery song spun with poetic words sliding silkily from his satin lips. And his eyes burn bright red, not brilliant blue-grey that could boost her mood with but a look._

_She withdraws another step, wary and wondering of what game this is that it would greet her with his face._

_Whose face? What is his_ name _?_

_His eyes change suddenly, a stormy blue now staring stonily at her and she stalls._

_“Don’t follow it,” that pesky voice returns in force._

_She wasn’t going to, was she?_

_—she was._

_She had thought it, thought about joining him._

_Following him. Forgiving him._

_Forgiving him for what?_

_She forgot._

_Forgotten and fearing, she had nearly faded from the fabric of this place until she was pulled through the portal, floundering and flailing. Someone found her and guided her home then made her forget._

_Who made her forget? Not him, he who stands before her._

_Someone made her forget herself as she was bending and bonding within the body that she’d been given._

_“I helped you,” says the voice beside her, tilting his head under his tattered hat._

_“You hindered me,” she tells him softly, her voice surprising her as it sings its silvery song like Solas’s._

_Solas’s._

_Solas._

_Solas! That is his name!_

_But not this one, the other one, the real one._

_“I helped you forget. I didn’t know what you were when we met.”_

_Not-Solas beckons again like a brightly lit beacon for her to break away and follow him. He beams, his smile beseeching but bereft of what makes Solas himself._

_She falls back another step and he follows._

_“Do you know now?” her voice tinkles through the silence hanging in the air._

_Silence? No, not right._

_Rapid successions of vibrations riddle the atmosphere, ricocheting rigorously around the area and ringing, rolling radiantly over her skin. A sweet caress. A song, humming hauntingly like an old hymn._

_But it is muted. It’s wrong here._

_“Maybe. Insistent, inexplicable images seek to impart impressions in my mind. They are not what makes you who you are, but they are you. It… confuses me,” confesses the ghostly face beneath the wide-brimmed hat._

_Not-Solas takes another step, staring strangely at her._

_His familiarity causes her to falter, her heart fluttering furiously as his next step brings him to a stop in front of her._

**_Come_ ** _, he wills her wordlessly with feathery fingers flitting upon her flushed cheeks, trailing fire in their wake._

_“Twisted, tainted, a tormentor. It tastes and tests your mind. It isn’t real. Don’t follow it,” the boy beside her persists._

_Solas-Not-Solas bends to place a poised and poisoned kiss upon her lips, a preening smile upon his own as he peers down at her._

_She inhales deeply in anticipation of the touch and retches. Rotten, wretched, and reeking, he smells wrong. It is not_ her _Solas. She reels away from him, wrenching her face from his grasp._

_Away, she thinks. She must get away. The ground begins to shake as a wave of energy sends her sailing, soaring through the air, away from the singing black city and Not-Solas. She lands in a heap and a hand stretches out, offering help._

_Further from the towering darkness of the black city and the almost-intoxication of Not-Solas, her mind begins to clear._

_“What am I?” she asks the boy as he pulls her to her feet._

_“A burning, blistering fire, barely contained but bound within a body. You’re brighter than the others, even without the glow.”_

_His words disconcert her as they settle around her. What do they mean? What does any of this mean?_

_“Who are you?” she asks him, realizing she had been rude in not asking until now._

_“It doesn’t matter; you won’t remember,” he tells her with great sadness, “No one remembers.”_

_She opens her mouth to argue that she would remember. Even in her clouded state of mind she had known she had heard his voice before, had recognized it. But before she can tell him any of that, a light tug begins to pull at the base of her neck._

_“I’ll try to remember you,” she promises him as she follows the pull._

.x.

_“Hello,” says a boyish voice._

_A pale face with eerie eyes stares at her. She knows him, but she isn’t sure how or why._

_“Soothed and sedated by his magic, you stayed. You were not gone long.”_

Magic, really _? she thinks skeptically, but asks, “Whose magic?”_

_“The one whose beautiful face burns brightly in the back of your mind.”_

_She lifts a brow in question, unsure of who he’s talking about. There is no one who makes her feel that way, no one she would let get close enough to make her feel that way._

_“You thought it, earlier. You said in your mind that his lovely, lilting voice makes your heart leap like a stone rippling across a still lake,” he tells her, reciting the words to her wistfully, his head tilting under his wide-brimmed hat._

_The kid is clearly crazy and this is a strange dream. Thinking he can read minds, magic exists, and she has someone in her life who makes her feel those things… She laughs, shaking her head as she lays on the flat ground and tucks her arm under her. She stares up at a blank whiteness while she waits to wake up._

_“‘Let me in, da’lin,’ he thinks while he works to rid you of the poison in your mind. He tried to break your barriers… Howling, hurtling, hearing her hum, but helpless to haul her out of her own mind. He tried, but he is weak yet. You surprised him with your strength.”_

_“Hate it when he calls me that,” she mutters without thinking, surprising herself._

_She sits up quickly, looking at the boy under his too-large hat, the start of recognition kicking into her mind. She can see the man’s face swimming behind her lids as she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Something is wrong._

_“My mind was poisoned?” she asks nervously, his words only now registering._

_“‘He bends to place a poised and poisoned kiss upon her lips, a preening smile upon his own as he peers down at her.’ That’s not right,” he mutters with a shake of his head, “You’ve been here so long it’s blurring. You need to wake up. ‘Wake up, da’lin,’ he whispers into the darkness while he waits, hoping to use her dislike of the word to rouse her.”_

_“How do I wake up?” her voice wavers as she pictures being stuck here with this ghost kid forever._

_“‘You will yourself out,’ he tells you, smirking smugly as you gasp in surprise and wake,” he recites monotonously, like reading a passage out of a book, before sounding almost hilariously offended as he exclaims, “I am not a ghost!”_

_She smiles apologetically at him, but her mind is silently screaming in frustration. Will herself out? What kind of advice is that? She thinks hard about leaving, getting out of the vast, white box they’re in._

_Nothing happens._

_“It didn’t work,” she huffs as she turns to the boy, who no longer sits beside her._

_She calls out for him, her heart racing in fear._

_But no one answers as she sits alone in the emptiness._

.x.

_He stands with his back to me, defeat plain to see in the stooping of his shoulders. He wishes to spare me from what must be done, but I have accepted my fate. To save our people, he cannot yield—not for anyone, even me. Mythal’s demise had nearly been his undoing, but together we devised a plan to see her avenged and the darkness locked away without him losing himself in the process. I will see him see it through, even if it means that **I** must die._

_“The time approaches,” I tell him with a light hand laid upon his bare back, the muscles hard beneath my fingers._

_“You needn’t remind me of your impending doom,” he snaps, even as he turns and brings his forehead down to rest softly on mine and utters an immediate apology._

_I let my hand raise to trail a thumb along his jaw. He claims to dislike when I am tender with him, yet he leans into my caress and I smile. If only I could hold him so for longer, but we are too quickly running out of time._

_“My essence will endure,” I say to reinforce him in his goal._

_His steely blue eyes pierce my emerald greens and I see the promise burning behind his. He will find me, I know. Or what will be left of me, at the very least._

_“Ma vir ghilana ma’vhenas,” he mutters, his lips whispering against my own in the gentlest of kisses._

_My heart squeezes at the sadness laced in his broken words, but I nod. Yes, his path will guide him to his heart one day—but what I do not say, what we are both aware of, is that that heart will not be the same as I am now._

_I trust that she will love him, for how could she not? And I pray that she is worthy of him, a soul who will match and soothe his own. But mostly, I hope against hope that she will see him happy, truly happy, for he deserves nothing less._

_“You must go,” I announce and release him, turning from him with a feigned strength in order to fortify his own._

_I hear each step he takes that leads him away from me until I can stand it no longer and I turn back to watch him disappear for the last time._

_“Dareth shiral, my gentle wolf,” I breathe into the quiet air, my heart shattering for what could have been but will never be._

.x.

Elythia takes a deep breath, her heart aching terribly. She doesn’t know why, but she feels the overwhelming need to cry. Her now forgotten dream must have really been something to make her feel so strongly. She takes a moment to collect herself and force her tears away.

When finally she feels better, her eyes flutter open to curious blue-grey orbs staring intently at her. Solas sits in a chair beside her bed, leaning close to her.

“Always watching me,” she says with a smile, her voice croaking from lack of use, her mood improving immediately upon seeing him.

The corner of his mouth twitches and a look of relief settles in his gaze before he promptly masks it.

“Someone must, as you seem to be unable to stay conscious,” he jokes lightly, causing a giggle to erupt from her.

She slaps a hand over her mouth, her eyes widening at the unexpected outburst. How right he is. How many times had she passed out since coming to Thedas? Too many to keep up with these days.

He chuckles at her reaction, a low, delightful sound that causes a stirring in her chest. It rolls over her body in a warm caress, causing an involuntary reaction she decides to ignore.

As he eases himself back in his chair, she takes notice of her surroundings. The bed beneath her, the chipped bedside table, the fireplace behind Solas—all familiar.

“We’re at Haven? How long was I out?”

His previous mirth vanishes in his seriousness as his eyes lock with hers, “Two weeks.”

Her eyebrows shoot high in her surprise before she frowns. She had lost two weeks! That’s two weeks of vying for influence to close the Breach that she’ll never get back. She’s supposed to be meeting with Fiona, the leader of the mage Rebellion, right now about allying with them! She’s missing so much.

She sits up suddenly, eager to be rid of her bed and to get going to Redcliffe, and tosses the covers from her body. Too much time has been wasted already.

“I would not—” Solas begins, standing with her as she pushes herself off the bed too quickly to control the wave of dizziness that crashes over her.

Her hands splay upon his chest to balance herself at the same time his come to rest lightly on her back to keep her up. She leans her forehead against him to take a breath and steady herself, his smell of sweat and herbs filling her senses with calm. Her hand strokes over the soft, velvety fabric covering his chest as she waits for her light-headedness to pass.

“What a lovely shirt,” she comments, unable to contain her smile as she realizes he wears the deep teal V-neck she had bought for him and stuffed in his pack, the color contrasting beautifully against the creamy skin at his neck.

“Purchased unnecessarily by an acquaintance, but I thought it rude not to utilize it,” he mutters, his breath warm against her temple as she leans back to look at him.

“You were missing the bottom half of your tunic. I’d call that pretty necessary.”

“It was not so far gone that I could not have managed.”

“This one looks better on you,” she admits quietly, her face flushing at her own blunt audacity, the words flying from her mouth before she even knew what was happening.

She holds his gaze as he analyzes her, her words, her reddened face, her palms still planted firmly upon his chest despite her dizziness having subsided. His jaw clenches and unclenches as he considers her. Russet brows crease and smooth, twitching with his thoughts, which he keeps hidden in the depths of his blue-grey eyes.

Her breath hitches slightly, her gaze dropping to his lips and back up. Her own mouth parts, ready and willing should he feel so inclined to close that gap between them. But he doesn’t. He takes a step back, breaking the spell between them, and withdraws his hands from her.

She curls her fingers into her palms to keep them to herself since her body currently seem to have a mind of its own. Whatever it was that had just happened, she had crossed a line – her own, which she had promised herself she wouldn’t and, judging from his reaction, she had crossed his, as well.

“I’m sorry. That was… inappropriate,” she tells him as she looks at the door, wishing she were already on the opposite side as her blush crawls to envelope her neck and ears.

“The fault is mine, Herald,” he replies in a stiff, clipped tone, “I should have warned you before you attempted to stand that disorientation may occur.”

The sting of being called Herald by him in such a formal way is sudden and more painful than she would have liked to admit. He had not called her Herald since her first days in Thedas when he’d only meant it as a jest and nothing more. To be called so now by him… well, he could not have made his rejection much clearer.

 _What_ had she been thinking? Something clearly had her mouth saying things her mind didn’t really want her to. And perhaps Varric’s encouraging words had penetrated at some point. She would be sure to inform him that he’d been wrong. He obviously didn’t see as much as he’d thought.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Two weeks of sleep has made her foolish and far more confident than she has any right to be. She knew better. Stupid mouth, stupid hands, stupid hard muscles beneath his stupid velvet shirt, tempting her into saying and wanting things she shouldn’t.

Before she can groan out loud – and to remove herself from the awkward situation – she leaves the room without another word or backward glance. But she can hear his near-silent footfalls behind her.

“The others will want to know that you have awoken. They are below, with the prisoners,” he tells her as he passes her and holds open the door to the cells below the Chantry.

She nods and keeps her eyes on anything but him as she passes to head down the stairs. A group of people surround a man seated in the middle of the room, illuminated only by the torch hanging above him. Cullen stands in the shadows, watching as Cassandra paces angrily behind Leliana, who stands in front of the man with a quiet air of menace about her.

 _Scary_ , Elythia thinks upon looking at the woman.

Solas sweeps past her and presses himself against a wall to her left, where she notices Varric leans easily with his arms crossed, Bianca resting on top of them. She joins them, standing on the opposite side of Varric and ignoring Solas to the best of her abilities.

Something moves in the shadows of the cell across from her and she watches as a large, hulking form emerges. She feels her eyes bulge as she watches the large, grey-skinned thing – man? – with horns duck below the bars of the cell and just barely slide out through the small door.

“What is that?” she asks so quietly she thinks perhaps Varric might not hear and she would have to ask again.

But he follows her gaze and chuckles, “Qunari.”

The horned, grey-skinned man lifts his head and looks at her with one eye, the other hidden behind an eyepatch. She gives her best smile, though she can feel it wobbling.

 _Heavens, he’s freaking_ big.

He gives his own smile, a slow spreading smirk that tells her he can guess exactly what she’s thinking. If she hadn’t been blushing already, her face would have burned off at his suggestive brow raise and long, sweeping gaze over ever inch of her. His eye lingers on bits that make her want to either cross her arms to cover herself or run and hide. Or both.

Definitely both.

She turns away from him and focuses on Leliana, who draws a blade from under her lavender hood and leans over the man, whispering and running her blade against his cheek. It comes away with blood on it.

Someone gasps and every set of eyes turn to her. She realizes it was her at the same moment Leliana looks from her to Solas with a pointed jerk of her head to the hall that leads out of the small dungeon.

“Come,” he commands and her mind clouds over.

 ** _Come_** **,** _he wills her wordlessly with feathery fingers flitting upon her flushed cheeks_.

The words bounce around in her head as she looks at Solas. Her skin breaks out in goosebumps as she remembers the feel of his fingers upon her, _trailing fire in their wake_.

What? Well, _that_ hadn’t happened, so there’s no way she remembers it.

She shakes her head. Maybe she hasn’t healed from whatever happened that caused her to pass out for two weeks… But she would _not_ be asking Solas about it. Not after that embarrassing moment in the bedroom. Apart from that, she felt fine though. Better than fine, in fact.

Everyone is still waiting on her she notices and she makes a decision she’s sure she’ll regret later.

“I’ll stay for now,” she tells them with a muttered promise to keep quiet.

Leliana resumes her torture of the man for answers to questions that Elythia wouldn’t have even thought to ask him.

The screams she had expected, so she was ready when they came. But it didn’t stop her stomach from churning. It was the whimpers from his broken body that caused her to leave. She understands he’s the ‘bad guy,’ of course, but that doesn’t make the torture of another living thing any less _wrong_.

At this point, she would have preferred if he’d have just died on the Imperial Highway. Then, at least, he wouldn’t be going through all this before they just kill him anyway, because she knows without a doubt that that’s exactly what is going to happen.

But during their interrogation and torture, they learned he is with a cult from Tevinter who call themselves the Venatori. Their mission had been to test her, just as she had suspected, and report back to their leader – which he refused to reveal under Leliana’s blade before Elythia had left. She’s sure that they’ll have a name by the time that woman is finished with him. She knows she would have caved at the first stroke of the blade.

If they were able to nab her after they had tested what she was capable of then so much the better, the Venatori had told them. Their leader wants her alive, for the mark. Leliana’s line of questioning illuminated her thinking process, in that it sounded like she thought perhaps whoever their leader was had been the one who had been at the Conclave and killed the Divine. For that alone, Elythia knew Leliana would get the answers she sought from him no matter the method of extraction. And Elythia was _not_ going to be around for that.

She couldn’t blame Leliana and Cassandra for their desire to press him for answers. When she had found her mother laying on the ground in a puddle of her own blood… Well, she’d had her anger problems back then. She’s certain she would have done the same to find answers about her parents’ deaths. But she had worked her anger out back then and realized that her mother would not have wanted her to succumb to such hatred, for she had been a carefree spirit who harbored no ill will for anyone or anything.

But that had taken her years to work out before she had let the anger go. The Divine’s death is still fresh around Thedas and the Venatori man holds the key to the Left and Right Hands solving her murder. She would not argue with them about getting their answers, even if she didn’t agree with their techniques.

“…you could teach us how to heal as efficiently as yourself,” says a woman with light brown hair as she fiddles nervously in front of Solas.

Elythia curses her wandering mind and feet for bringing her here of all places. All of Haven and somehow she ends up at his cottage every time, like some invisible thread constantly pulling her toward him.

His response is too low for her to hear as she marches right by them, his eyes following her every move. She ignores him and heads for the tavern around the corner. Drinking isn’t her thing, but after being knocked out for two weeks and then making a fool of herself… well, she deserved alcohol.

At least that should distract her until she’s able to talk to Cassandra about leaving for Redcliffe to talk with the mages. And seeing about Piero. And asking about what had happened to her. So much to do, so little time to do it.

“Her Gracious Ladybits!” screeches a female voice in the corner of the Singing Maiden tavern.

She turns to see Sera with her choppy blonde hair sharing a table with the man from the dungeon, the Qunari. She waves Elythia over to their table.

“Finally get to meet the Herald of Andraste,” says the Qunari in a deep, smooth voice, quieter than she’d have assumed considering his size.

“I prefer Elythia,” she tells him, extending her hand, “And you are?”

“This is The Iron Bull! He’s Qunari. See how big he is, yeah? Their women are big too… Can’t you just imagine?” Sera tells her with a dreamy smile upon her face.

Elythia rolls her eyes and shakes her head with a smile as she sits down.

“I didn’t think you’d be so…” Elythia trails off as she motions to his body, thinking she didn’t expect someone so large and grey.

“Horny?” he supplies for her with ease, his one green eye raking over her again and Sera cackles.

Her blush is immediate, her eyes widening, “ _No_. I was going to say big.”

“I’m that also.”

His double entendres will be the death of her as her entire face burns like an inferno. Sera wheezes and gasps for breath beside him as she laughs hysterically, her drink sloshing everywhere.

“Relax, Boss. Have a drink. You clearly need one,” he laughs and signals to the bartender to bring a round of drinks.

Boss? So, they have joined the Inquisition. That’s good, since Elythia hadn’t been able to get out to the Storm Coast to meet them. She hadn’t been looking forward to going anyway, seeing as Cassandra had described it as gloomy and raining constantly. Two things she isn’t a fan of.

She grabs one of the drinks brought to their table and takes a small sip, immediately coughing and holding back a gag. Yeah, call her particular, but she tended to like her drinks sweet enough for the alcohol to be undetectable. Their alcohol is musty and bitter, not delicious in the slightest. She takes another gulp.

“Don’t think she wants to ride the bull, Bull!” Sera announces to the entire tavern, much to Elythia’s chagrin, as she gives the man a joking shove, “She’s got eyes for Solas.”

“I don’t have eyes for anyone,” she mutters, sliding down into her chair in hopes of hiding from everyone now staring at her.

Sera snorts, “Pfft. Elves always go for elves. Probably a good thing in this case. How would it even work with a Qunari? Elves are so small.”

“It would require a lot of stretching,” he replies with a laugh, which a drunken Sera returns twofold.

Elythia shakes her head at the two of them and downs the rest of her mug. The taste leaves everything to be desired, but it is what it is. She hasn’t been drunk since her twenty-first birthday. Tonight will be the second time in her life.

“Flissa! Another round,” The Iron Bull bellows to the bartender again.

“I didn’t bring any money with me,” Elythia admits as the woman brings three more mugs to their table.

“These are on me tonight. You can get us next time.”

Sera laughs and holds her mug in the air toward him, “Won’t be the only thing on you tonight if the brunette in the corner has a say about it!”

“So, what’s your story, Boss?” The Iron Bull asks her as she takes a swig of her second mug of ale.

She shrugs, “I fell through a rift into Thedas from another world and picked up a weird orb thing that exploded the Temple of Sacred Ashes and killed everyone. Now, I run around recruiting people to close the Breach with my glowing hand.”

“No, I meant your other story. You blush like a maiden at the slightest indication of sexual interest.”

She chokes and sputters on her ale as she beats a fist against her chest. Well, she should have expected that. Sera slams her hand against Elythia’s back to help her, laughing hysterically.

“I’ve had sex,” she admits with a reddened face, the alcohol loosening her up a bit as she adds, “Once.”

“What? You have all that and only done it once?!” Sera exclaims appallingly, her hands waving over Elythia, who shrugs coolly.

“I kept to myself a lot.”

 _And it wasn’t that great_ , she remarks silently.

“Oh, that’s code for she diddles herself a lot,” Sera howls with laughter and Elythia finishes off her second round of beer, her cheeks still blazing.

She decides she’ll need more alcohol if this is how the rest of their conversation is going to go. And with a promise to pay The Iron Bull back, she waves over two more rounds of drinks.

Let the open talks begin!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same as usual... If there are mistakes, I'll be back to catch them later. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> P.S.  
> What color hair do you think Solas would have if he had any? People seem to think dark brown, but his brows suggest maybe a dark blonde/copper/light brown even, maybe? 
> 
> There is a reasoning behind my asking ^that, but you'll have to wait to find it out. ;D


	13. To Hell With It!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE:  
> I'm not going to post anything for the next couple weeks, as the holidays are going to be demanding my time. But I'll be back to it after the New Year! Sorry about any inconvenience!

Chapter 13

**_He hears her laughter first, a jaunty, melodious song breaking the otherwise silent night. His interest piques as he wonders what elicits such a sound from her. The answer comes in the form of Iron Bull, the Inquisition’s new mercenary ally. He carries her over one of his shoulders like a weightless sack. Sera rests on the other._ **

**_The beginnings of envy course through him, but he quashes it angrily. He has no right, least of all where she is concerned. But it is more than just her that evokes such feelings within him as he watches those around him connect so easily with others—a simple pleasure denied him through circumstances of his own making._ **

**_He sighs forlornly into the cold, still air._ **

****

~~~

“Waitwaitwait!” Elythia tells The Iron Bull as they pass by Solas’s cabin, “Take me to Solas. I need to speak with him.”

He complies, carrying her over to drop her in front of him. She slides gracefully to her feet, surprising herself considering the amount of drinks she had. Even so, she only feels a slight buzz. Perhaps their alcohol here is watered down?

She walks to Solas’s crate and flops down beside him.

“Have to get this one to a bed,” The Iron Bull says, jostling Sera upon his massive shoulder.

Elythia waves to him and turns to Solas with a deep breath. She had wanted to come here for a reason. He waits patiently, watching her with careful eyes like she might lean over and kiss him at any moment. The thought makes her laugh as she thinks she most definitely could in her current state. To hell with her promise! To hell with her world! To hell with it all.

She brings a hand to her mouth in an attempt to hold back her laughter. When she feels under control once more, she looks him in his eyes with as much seriousness as she can muster.

“I wanted to say sorry again, for earlier.”

But she’s only sorry he had reacted the way he had and the awkwardness that commenced. She’d decided she was no longer sorry that she had taken the chance to touch him, to… try.

“You have already apologized, Herald. No need to do so again.”

She grimaces at him calling her Herald again.

“I don’t want you to call me that,” she admits, caring little for the emotions behind her words.

“It is your title, is it not?” he challenges her calmly with a lifted brow.

She turns away from him with crossed arms and leans against the wall.

“You say it like an insult.”

He doesn’t respond. She turns her head to see his jaw working, the muscles twitching back and forth. Surely she hadn’t upset him with such a simple statement.

“You should get some rest,” he says finally, readying himself to push off his crate.

“Wait,” she reaches out to stop him, “I have questions.”

Indecision is clear in the tense set of his body as he hesitates. But then he exhales, an almost-sigh, and settles back.

“What happened to Piero?” she begins, picking what she is most concerned about.

“He was sent back to Val Royeaux with Inquisition soldiers as protection. He will vie for influence amongst the nobles.”

She breathes a sigh of relief, thankful that Sera hadn’t killed him, and nods. Now they have an actual chance of getting something done with him working for them.

“What happened to me?”

He frowns with tight lips, “Blood magic.”

“Blood magic?”

“It is what it sounds like and is quite effective. More so when used properly.”

“Yeah, I imagine so considering I was out for two weeks,” she jokes lightly.

“I have little experience with blood magic, as it tampers with one’s ability to enter the Fade. At first, I was not sure I could pull you from the spell,” he tells her solemnly before the corner of his mouth twitches into a small smile, “Cassandra threatened me, you know. She told me she would have my head if I could not reverse the effects.”

“She says that to everyone,” she laughs, returning his smile, “I doubt she would have followed through. Cassandra is many things, but stupid isn’t one of them. We all see your worth.”

“I—thank you, for your kind words. But I am not so foolish to believe that I would be welcomed here were it not for my knowledge of the Fade and its connection to the mark you bear.”

Elythia shakes her head, “You’re wrong. You may not see it, but Cassandra asks you things unrelated to either because she’s genuinely interested in your opinion. The mages have asked for your help, I noticed earlier, because they see what you have to offer. Varric enjoys your company and engages you in conversation to take advantage of the stories you offer from the Fade. If you feel unwelcomed, that’s on you and your desire to be detached.”

His steely blue eyes roam her earnest face as he contemplates her words.

“I suppose you are correct. I have lived a solitary life for so long that it is easy to forget that I am no longer alone,” he admits quietly, and she’d swear his words were laced with a touch of regret or, at the very least, sadness.

Perhaps it’s the alcohol still coursing through her that encourages her, or it’s his words and his tone, but she reaches out to give his hand a squeeze. When he doesn’t pull away, she boldly laces her fingers slowly through his, giving him time to pull away—to reject her once more. Her heart races at the small touch.

Definitely the alcohol. There’s no way she would have done such a thing were she not buzzing hard. They don’t call it liquid courage for nothing.

“I’m here if you need someone. And I’m not just saying that for your sake. I’ve been alone all my life, especially so after my parents died. I didn’t realize how lonely I was until I came here and then suddenly wasn’t anymore. I need the companionship just as much.”

He stares bemusedly at their joined hands, flexing his fingers in an almost caress against hers. She relaxes and enjoys the sensation, knowing that come tomorrow this moment will feel like it never happened as they revert back to glances at each other and nothing more. The thought makes her chest hurt.

 _Ridiculous_ , she argues with herself silently. She’s just setting herself up for more rejection and, inevitably, unrequited heartbreak. Glutton for punishment? Yep, that’s her. She wallowed in anger for years over her parents’ deaths, then loneliness for years past that. Now, she gets to experience heartache and the torment that follows – a one-sided experience.

She nearly laughs at her idiocy.

“I will take your words into consideration and attempt to be less… removed from those around me,” he promises as he turns his searching gaze back to her face, leaving their fingers laced loosely upon his lap.

She gives him a small smile, “We’ll all be better for it. You’ll see.”

“On this I must disagree.”

She gives a short laugh and shake of her head. How could he disagree? So many would benefit if he were to open up with them. Already he has taught her so much, both of this world and general life lessons. To think that he doesn’t believe everyone would benefit from him is preposterous. Or perhaps she’s just biased because she happens to have a massive crush on him.

Realizing their fingers are still entwined, she tests the waters, stroking the outside of his index finger. The feel of his smooth skin beneath the pad of her thumb, such a small thing, causes her excitement. That he doesn’t stop her makes her all the more daring as she lets her thumb slowly dip into his palm and back out.

Still, he doesn’t withdraw his hand. Is this a dream? Did she fall asleep beside him on the crate, enter the Fade, conjure up an illusion of him, and then allow herself what she’d been denying for weeks now? Wouldn’t that be something – to have talked to and touched him like this only to find it wasn’t real, wasn’t him.

She peaks at him to gauge his reaction as she pinches his palm lightly.

He lifts an amused brow, “Might I ask what that was for?”

Well, that didn’t answer her question about whether this was the Fade or not. What if she thought he would say that and so he did because she ‘willed it?’ Ugh. Stupid Fade. She can’t even ask him if this is the Fade because if he is just a figure of her imagination, he would say that this isn’t, wouldn’t he? Because she doesn’t want it to be.

“I have problems, clearly,” she finally answers with shake of her head and pursed lips.

“Herald—”

“Mm, no,” she interrupts, removing her hand from his to hold a finger in the air, before he can finish his sentence, “You’re not allowed to call me that. We’ve just agreed to be more open and to be friends. Friends don’t call friends by their titles.”

“What would you have me call you, then?”

‘Elythia’ bubbles to her lips before she bites it back. He had called her something in the Hinterlands and she had delved into the book provided by Leliana, scouring page after page with loose Elvish translations and light history until she had found the words and their meanings. There were many ways for it to be conveyed, but after much deliberation, she had come to a conclusion about the most probable translation. And had been delighted by it.

She smiles, slowly and deviously, as she watches his reaction to her words, “Bright eyes.”

His eyes gleam, illuminated by the soft glow of her palm, as his own pleased smile spreads, “You are a quick learner, leal inan.”

She shrugs in response, a smile still upon her lips. He sits up straighter suddenly, rubbing his hands along his thighs in an almost anxious gesture she would have said, if she didn’t know him better.

“I must tell you,” he says in a quiet, somber voice, his smile now gone as he looks at the pebbled path in front of them, “I can offer you companionship, but no more.”

She tries to keep the smile on her face. What had she expected? That he had allowed her a small hand hold was enough, she supposed. It’s not like she could ask for more. He clearly doesn’t want to cross that line and she hadn’t either until recently. Until today, in fact.

He turns to look at her.

“Companionship,” she concurs with a nod, “If that’s all you’re willing to offer, I’ll gladly take it.”

As her face reddens at her words, her eagerness, she sends a silent thanks out to the universe that it isn’t noticeable on her already flushed cheeks thanks to the cold night air and the alcohol. Solas relaxes once more and leans back against the wall beside her.

She laughs, sure she should be offended by his reaction, but she can’t bring herself to feel anything other than light as they seem to have reconciled the awkward moment that had passed between them before.

.x.

“You are in much higher spirits these days,” Solas comments from behind Elythia as she finishes her upbeat song for them.

She laughs and shrugs. She had decided to stop dwelling on her predicament and enjoy most of it while it lasts. The places, the people, the experiences… minus the deaths and killings, of course. Those she could definitely live without, but she was learning to shove them into the box in her mind for later.

“It is decidedly delightful.”

She can’t help the smile and warmth that spreads at his compliment, but it’s short-lived as her mark flares to life. It sputters, showering the air in green sparks. The pain accompanying its liveliness is dull but growing, and she knows the closer she gets, the more intense the feeling will become—like a knife ripping through her skin and twisting relentlessly.

 _Can’t wait for that_ , she snorts sarcastically to herself.

“There’s a rift nearby,” she warns the others as they continue their way through the village of Redcliffe.

They’d asked around about the Grand Enchanter and been told they could find her closer to the middle of the village, though her exact whereabouts were unknown. Considering there was a rift somewhere, she’d have to wait. Demons come first.

They dismount at the stables up the hill from the rest of the village. Most of the people of Redcliffe, it seems, amble about from small wooden shop to equally small booth below them. Others trek around the docks, loading and unloading crates and sacks. More still, mostly Andrastians in their religious garb, move along the roads whispering their prayers either to themselves or at passersby.

Varric breaks off from their group with a mutter about checking the tavern for the leader of the mage Rebellion. Sera follows quickly behind him with a loud, ‘no thanks’ tossed over her shoulder in regard to finding the rift.

“Tevinter guards in Redcliffe? Something is wrong. Stay alert,” Cassandra mutters beside her as they pass a group of armored men sporting the Imperium’s heraldry.

Some of them stare openly as they pass by, their eyes upon Elythia’s mark. She ignores the urge to hide it behind her back and concentrates on feeling the pull of it instead, letting it lead her toward the rift.

“I’ll inquire about the Vints,” The Iron Bull tells them quietly as he too splits from their group and heads toward the docks, pretending to browse the wares at the stalls there and striking up a conversation with the vendors.

Elythia knows the reason behind his offer is because demons creep him out. He’d made that clear when they’d run upon their first rift on the way to speak with the mages. He had cursed and grumbled about the creatures for an hour afterward. For such a big guy who takes things down easily, she found it almost funny that demons caused such a reaction from him.

 _“They can possess people. That should be enough to set anyone on edge,”_ he’d told her after she had closed the rift.

Ten minutes of walking later and they were outside of an abandoned Chantry. Her palm was aching, but the feeling was neither intensifying nor decreasing. She’d gathered that meant she was nearly on top of it.

“It’s in there,” she states, jerking her chin toward the building.

“Agents of the Inquisition!” calls a voice from behind them.

They turn to see a short haired, elven woman in robes, a group of mages following closely behind her. The Grand Enchanter. Well, at least they wouldn’t need to run the woman down after they close the rift. She had found them.

“Fiona,” Elythia says in greeting to the woman.

“Herald,” she replies with a slight bow of her head, “Welcome, Inquisition. What brings you to Redcliffe?”

A delicate brow lifts as she considers the woman. If not for her serious demeanor and the sincerity of her question, Elythia would have assumed she was joking.

“You invited us to talk with the mages about an alliance in Val Royeaux weeks ago,” she tells her with a narrowed gaze and a frown.

“You must be mistaken. I’ve not been to Val Royeaux since before the Conclave.”

Elythia looks to Cassandra in confusion as if to confirm that she is, in fact, the same woman who had flagged the Seeker down and demanded to meet the ‘Herald’ and to set a meeting to talk about an alliance. Cassandra looks just as baffled by the woman’s statement.

“You were most definitely in Val Royeaux. Have you any other instances of altered memories, Grand Enchanter?” Solas asks, intrigued by whatever thought had occurred to him.

“No, and I have no altered memories. Ask anyone around and they will tell you that I have not left Redcliffe since the Rebellion settled here. It could not have been me that you met. I suppose it could be magic… But why anyone would do such a thing, I do not know.”

“It’s true,” one of the men behind her speaks up.

“Curious,” Solas mutters lowly beside Elythia.

“Whoever or whatever brought you here matters little now. The free mages have already pledged themselves to the service of the Tevinter Imperium.”

“An alliance with Tevinter?” Cassandra exclaims, “Do you not fear all of Thedas turning against you?”

“What choice did we have, Seeker? All hope of peace died with Justinia. The war rages on and I needed to do something to save my people. This bargain with Tevinter would not have been my first choice, but I did what I could, what I thought best, in the moment,” Fiona argues back with as much intensity as Cassandra had delivered her questions.

A scream inside the Chantry chills her to her bones as once again it cries out in her mother’s voice. She hates the terror demons, who imitate sounds that she would rather not have to hear ever again.

“We need to close the rift,” she announces, interrupting their little chat.

“That we do,” agrees a male voice as he circles the mages and climbs the steps of the Chantry.

He seems so out of place amongst the others with his fine silk robes and his neatly groomed… well, everything. Right down to the handlebar mustache and small soul patch. He screamed wealth and luxury more so even than some of the nobles she had seen in Val Royeaux.

He doesn’t stop as he passes them all by and tosses open the door of the Chantry and begins his assault on the demons within, whipping his staff through the air and knocking the nearest shade to the ground.

The mages who thought to bring a staff with them rush the steps to help. With this many people working on the demons, Elythia doesn’t bother to pull her own weapons from her belt, especially as Solas’s barrier winks into existence around her.

Her palm comes up, releasing a green tendril to reach out and latch onto the rift. She begins to weave it closed.

Something catches her eye, breaking her concentration as it flies past in a flurry of black robes and mist. It’s gone as quickly as it came, but there, in the corner, is something far more interesting.

She watches, transfixed, as Cassandra fights a demon in slow motion – the rift forgotten. Everyone else around them is moving at a normal pace, twirling a staff or sending spells sailing through the air to connect with demons. Except for her.

“Do you see that?” she asks Solas as he steps beside her to send a blast of air out to knock back a shade that had begun to slither toward them.

He cocks his head and looks at where she’s staring with a frown.

“It seems to—”

His words cut off as Elythia is thrown into him. Another shade had rushed them, so quickly neither had time to see it coming. His arm wraps around her waist to keep her up as he releases another gush of air to send the creature flying away from them. One of the other mages finishes it off by stabbing it with the pointed end of his staff.

She reconnects her palm quickly to the rift at the same time she pulls a dagger with her right hand.

 _Should have known better_ , she thinks with wry disapproval of herself. When has she ever not needed her dang weapon in this world?

She winces at the sound of another scream as a terror demon sprouts from the ground behind Cassandra, moving at a much faster pace than the woman herself. Her heart races in fear.

“Solas! Help Cassandra!” she yells over the demon’s shrill taunting.

His arm leaves her immediately as he whisks his staff through the air and slams it into the ground. Lightning, bright and flashing, arcs through the air and stuns the tall, thin demon as the current courses through its body.

If not for the severity of the situation, she would have laughed at the comical way Cassandra did a slow turn on the creature. She was in the middle of thrusting her sword home, extremely slowly, when Elythia closed the rift with an audible pop. Then everything returned to normal, the sudden regained momentum sending Cassandra’s entire hand clean through the demon.

“Fascinating,” the boldly affluent man breathes beside her, “How does it work, exactly?”

She turns to see him gazing at her in awe, waiting on an answer and she shrugs.

“No one seems to be entirely sure of the particulars.”

“You just wiggle your fingers and boom! Rift closes,” he laughs to himself.

“It’s not quite so simple. It takes a little concentration and some willpower,” she tells him defensively.

“Why, but of course, Herald. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must make myself scarce once more,” he says, leaving just as quickly as he came through the Chantry doors.

She watches him go, staring at his back in disbelief.

 _Magician_ , she laughs to herself. That’s what he reminds her of with his flashy clothing and facial hair. He even came and went like one, quickly appearing and disappearing as though through thin air.

“Who was that?” she asks aloud to no one in particular.

No one answers as they check themselves and others for any injuries. Only one person seemed to be wounded, their scrapes healed quickly by another. She notices Solas doing a swift sweep of her body with his eyes, checking for any signs of harm. A slow blush begins to creep its way into her cheeks as his gaze continues to rake over her.

“The Arl and his men, we did not see them. Where are they?” Cassandra demands loudly, her question pointed at Fiona, who stands at the Chantry door.

“The Arl—”

“Left the village,” finishes a male voice from behind Fiona as he sidles into the Chantry.

“Allow me to introduce Magister Gereon Alexius,” Fiona announces, as the hooded figure stops before Elythia and her now muted hand.

“Arl Teagan did not abandon his lands during the Blight, even when they were under siege,” Cassandra challenges with narrowed eyes.

“There were tensions growing. I did not want an incident,” he tells her before turning to Elythia, “I apologize for not greeting you earlier. You are the survivor, yes? The one from the Fade… Interesting.”

Something about the man gives her the heebie jeebies. She saw Solas take a step toward her out of the corner of her eye and she relaxed the smallest bit.

“I am,” she confirms, extending her hand, “Elythia.”

His eyes flicker from her hand to her face. He doesn’t take it and she withdraws awkwardly.

“I am not surprised you’re here. I hear you require mages to close the Breach.”

“We had thought to speak with them of an alliance.”

“What does the Imperium gain by indenturing the rebel mages?” Cassandra asks aggressively.

He turns his dark gaze upon her, “At the moment nothing, as they are a considerable expense. After they are properly trained, they will join our legion.”

“You said not all my people would be military!” Fiona pipes in, clearly upset, “There are children and those not suited—”

“And one day, I’m sure they will all be productive citizens of the Imperium… When their debts are paid,” he tells her, leveling her with a look that commands her silence before turning back to Cassandra, “Currently, they have no legal status in the Imperium and are required to work for a period of ten years before gaining full rights. As their protector, I shall oversee their work.”

“It is convenient that you happened upon the Rebellion at such a perfect time as to lend them your aid when they seemingly needed it most,” Solas remarks in that quiet, contemplating voice of his.

“Indeed. When the Conclave was destroyed, these pour souls faced the brutality of the Templars who rushed to attack them. It could only be through divine providence that I arrived when I did and it is no small thing that I have granted them my protection.”

Fiona frowns, looking between the two men, “It was certainly very… timely.”

The Magister ignores the Grand Enchanter as he turns his gaze back to Elythia.

“You came to barter for mages, did you not? Let us negotiate—”

“Magister Alexius!” shouts a man running at full speed for them, “It’s Felix—”

His face visibly falls, the concern rolling off him in nearly palpable waves.

“Friends, I apologize, but I must cut our time short. Fiona, I require your assistance,” he interrupts the man off as he turns abruptly from them and walks hastily from the Chantry, calling over his shoulder, “I shall send word to conclude our business at a later date, Inquisition.”

“Does anyone else find this a bit strange?” Cassandra asks absently as they watch the mages flock behind the Magister and the Grand Enchanter as they take their leave.

Elythia snorts, “Everything in Thedas is strange.”

An understatement, to be sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided after the fall of Haven, before going to Skyhold, I'm going to set this story as finished and do this all in 3 sections. 
> 
> The first will take place up until the fall of Haven, the second will take place until the defeat of Corypheus and Solas's disappearance, and the third will... be a surprise. :D 
> 
> Hope it won't bother anyone, but I'm also thinking of switching to first-person POV for part 2 and part 3. I've actually been considering doing it in the middle of this, but I don't want to throw it off, so I'm refraining with all my might. xD


End file.
